Ne'er Do Well Read online

  “‘When you say impression…’

  “‘That’s as near as I can get – for the moment. I have a feeling that I was aware of something.’

  “‘Something unusual?’

  “‘I can’t go as far as that. It may have been nothing of importance – the rustle of a habit, for instance.’

  “‘I understand. If it should return to your mind…’

  “‘You shall have it at once.’

  “We talked for a few minutes more, when I took my leave.

  “I saw the day-sister next. She is a notable woman: and, as Dallas said, of a type that nothing could shake. If only she’d been on night duty… I mean, there’s a witness for you. No Coroner’s Court would faze her. Reserved, of course, but natural. But she, of course, was off duty. The Sisters have their own quarters at the back of the house. When she bade St Amant goodnight, he was in excellent form. St Geneviève, he called her. When she protested, ‘Come, come,’ he said; ‘between saints…’

  “‘I think,’ I said, ‘that he had all the virtues.’

  “‘You knew him, Superintendent?’

  “‘Unhappily, only by repute. And sight, of course. I’ve seen him many a time.’

  “‘He was the sort of man that other men die for, Superintendent. I can see any one of his servants giving his life for his. I’d only known him a week, but I would have done so gladly – without a thought. He was incomparable.’

  “I made no answer to that – I didn’t know what to say. After such a tribute as that, any condolences would have been out of place. Besides, she was very near tears.

  “After a little, I asked if he had had visitors. So far as she knew, none. Letters? She had seen none. After all, he was only in for eight days. Pain? Not very much after the first two days. He never complained. Talked a lot of his horses. Had given him japonica tablets once or twice. But not for the night. That was the night-sister’s job. She went off duty at eight and came on at eight. Retired between ten and eleven. Up at five.

  “‘A long day, sister?’

  “‘I think the older one gets, the less sleep one wants. I shall be sixty next month.’

  “‘I’d have put you much younger than that.’

  “She smiled.

  “‘It’s the regular life.’

  “‘Sister Helena’s younger, I think.’

  “‘Very much younger. She’s only thirty-two.’

  “‘I hope to see her,’ I said, ‘at three o’clock.’

  “‘I’ll see to that. I’m off duty, you see, from two till four.’

  “‘You’re very good. In another room perhaps.’

  “‘I think that would be best.’

  “Then I drove back to the village. The Chief Constable was at the police-station, and he and the superintendent and I had half an hour’s talk. Coroner’s Inquest on Friday. Well, that’s all right. I arranged to see him at five, to suggest the witnesses. The Mother Superior is a by-word. An autocrat, and said to be terribly strict. The staff undoubtedly fear her. So do the tradesmen. If a workman is sent for, the man drops everything else. Her custom’s worth having, of course; but it’s more than that. I asked if they’d met her. The Chief Constable shook his head. The superintendent replied, ‘First time this morning, sir: and I don’t want to meet her again. She might have been made of black ice. What d’you propose? she says. I said a man on the terrace and one at the gates. And the door of the room to be locked, an’ the House Surgeon keep the key. My lawyer’s coming, she says. If you exceed your duty, he’ll deal with you. I’ll say I was glad to get out.’

  “The Home has a big reputation in Ne’er-do-well. Said to be very expensive. Big men come down from London to operate. Spare rooms in Paterson’s house, so that London doctors and surgeons can stay the night. The sisters never leave the grounds: sometimes seen in the meadows, walking in pairs. The porteress is a tartar – the back-door one. The baker, butcher etc. have to watch their step. Their bills are never questioned, so the Home gets only the best. Plenty of fuel in the winter, though everyone else goes short. Nobody ever knows what patients are there. Some of the staff live out, but they never talk. ‘She’s got them all where they belong, if you ask me.’

  “Then I got through to London, to say that all was well. I never like saying much on an open line. I had some lunch and dictated a short report. I told them the name of Lord St Amant’s Bank – I got that from his chequebook of course – asked them to get hold of his lawyers and arrange for a clerk to go to his place in Berkshire with one of our men. Curfew Place, not very far from Ascot. That I had got from the Home. And they had his cousin’s address, as the next of kin. He’s the heir. The Chief Constable’s wiring to him.

  “At a quarter to three I was back at the Nursing Home. I took Rogers with me and told him to see the head gardener and learn what he could. Are the grounds patrolled at night, and that sort of thing. Then I visited the men at the gates and told them to watch for the Press. ‘If any reporter gets past you, that’s a dereliction of duty – I’ll run you myself.’

  “As I entered the house, Sister Geneviève came out of the porter’s lodge. ‘Will you come this way, Superintendent?’ Presently she opened a door on which was the letter C, and I followed her into a chamber which was simple, but not austere. A writing-table, a bowl of flowers and two or three easy chairs. By the window a nun was standing, looking out. As she turned, ‘Superintendent Falcon – Sister Helena,’ said Sister Geneviève. Then she withdrew, and we two were left alone.

  “We both said ‘How d’ye do.’

  “‘What beautiful roses,’ I said. ‘Your head-gardener must be an expert.’

  “‘He’s very good.’

  “‘I rather expect that this is a consulting-room?’

  “‘Yes, it is one of three.’

  “‘I shall be a little time, so may we sit down?’

  “She took an upright chair and set it with its back to the light. I took my seat on the arm of an easy chair.

  “She’s a most beautiful girl. Really lovely features and large brown eyes. High breeding stood right out, but her countenance had been refined by the holy life she had led. I’ve never seen a Madonna that rang so true.

  “‘Sister Helena, I’m going to be very frank, and I’m sure you’ll be frank with me. I’m out of Scotland Yard and I’ve come to try and find out why Lord St Amant died. It’s a very tragic business. He was such a splendid man.’ Her eyes were upon the ground, but I saw she was breathing fast. ‘Now I know that you were his night-sister. How many patients were in your charge last night?’

  “‘Five.’

  “‘All the patients on the terrace but one?’

  “‘Yes. The patient in Number Three has a nurse to himself.’

  “‘I see. Do the five keep you very busy?’

  “‘No.’

  “‘Do you wait for them to ring? Or do you look into their rooms, whether they ring or no?’

  “‘I don’t wait for them to ring.’

  “‘You visit them all in turn, to see how they’re getting on?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘But once they’re asleep, you don’t?’

  “‘Sometimes I just look in, to see they’re all right.’

  “‘From the terrace perhaps?’

  “‘Sometimes. In weather like this. Opening a door makes a noise.’

  “‘Supposing you see a light on.’

  “‘I wait. If it isn’t put out, I go in.’

  “‘For the last few days, I think, all the windows have stood wide open by day and night.’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘Have the curtains been drawn?’

  “‘Only in Number Two and Number Three.’

  “‘Number Three has a special nurse. What about Number Two?’

  “‘He fears that the morning light may wake him up.’

  “‘Suppose you’re visiting someone, and someone else rings for you.’

  “‘Whenever my bell is rung, a small red light c
omes on in every patient’s room. It doesn’t disturb the patient, but I see the glow at once.’

  “‘I see. You come on at eight?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘And you visit the five at once?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘To pass the time of day and show that you’re there?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘Now we come to last night. You visited Lord St Amant soon after eight?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘How did he seem?’

  “‘His usual self.’

  “‘Cheerful?’

  “‘Yes, very cheerful. He always was.’

  “‘His temperament was gay?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘Did he call you St Helena?’

  “Her eyes met mine for a moment. Then she nodded her head.

  “‘When did you see him next?’

  “‘Just about ten o’clock. I took him some Ovaltine.’

  “‘Was that usual?’

  “‘Yes. I always took him a cup about that time.’

  “‘And the next time?’

  “‘I think about half an hour later. I went to collect the cup.’

  “‘Did you bid him goodnight then?’

  “‘No. He used to get up after that, to rinse out his mouth.’

  “‘I see. So you went back again?’

  “‘Yes, in a quarter of an hour.’

  “‘What did you do then?’

  “‘I put two japonica tablets by his side.’

  “‘Did you have any speech with him?’

  “‘Yes – for a minute or two.’

  “‘He was always ready to talk?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘Gay as ever?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘Did you finally say goodnight?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘Did you switch off the light?’

  “‘No. I left that to him.’

  “‘Did you visit him again last night?’

  “‘No. I just looked into his room, but he was asleep.’

  “‘Are you quite sure he was asleep?’

  “She caught her breath. Then –

  “‘I didn’t put on the light, but I thought he was.’

  “‘Perhaps you looked in from the terrace.’

  “‘Yes, I did.’

  “‘But how can you see at all?’

  “‘I use a torch.’

  “‘I see. And you keep the light on the ground?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘How do you get to the terrace?’

  “‘Through one of the patient’s rooms.’

  “‘I see. And you leave it in the same way?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘Usually One and Six?’

  “‘No. Number Two sleeps very sound, so I usually pass through his room.’

  “‘What time was it, when you just looked into his room?’

  “‘It was just about three.’

  “‘How d’you remember that?’

  “‘Because I always go round at about that time.’

  “‘I quite understand. Now tell me this, Sister Helena. During last night, did you hear or see anything unusual either upon the terrace or in the house?’

  “‘No.’

  “‘No light in the meadows?’

  “‘No.’

  “‘I want you to think for a moment. Think of the hours between eleven and six… Did anything at all occur during those seven hours that seemed irregular?’

  “She sat for a moment, thinking. Then –

  “‘Nothing,’ she said.

  “‘You went to call Lord St Amant at six o’clock?’

  “‘I think it was a few minutes past.’

  “‘You took in his tea.’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘What did you find?’

  “Her head went down.

  “‘I found him dead.’

  “‘You had no doubt?’

  “‘Oh, no.’

  “‘There was no mistaking it?’

  “She shook her head.

  “‘His eyes were open?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘Please tell me the impression you got.’

  “‘He looked…as if…he’d been taken by surprise.’

  “She burst into tears there, and I waited for three or four minutes, until she was more composed.

  “‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last. ‘But it was such a dreadful moment.’

  “‘It must have been. I’m – terribly sorry for you.’

  “She raised her head at that, and looked me full in the eyes.

  “‘It’s a sister’s duty,’ she said, ‘to deal with life and death.’

  “‘Of course. But sisters are human. The bride of Christ can’t put off her womanhood.’

  “‘By which you mean?’

  “‘That women like you are tender. When they see such a man so dead, it touches their heart. I mean, it touched mine; and I am a policeman, accustomed to violent death.’

  “She caught her breath. Then –

  “‘Please go on,’ she said.

  “‘What did you do, Sister Helena?’

  “‘I ran to my pantry and rang both emergency bells.’

  “‘Whom do they summon?’

  “‘The Mother Superior and the House Surgeon.’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘Then I called another sister and we waited by the door of the room.’

  “‘Did she go in?’

  “‘For a moment – yes.’

  “‘Alone?’

  “‘I watched from the door. She brought me out a chair, so that I could sit down.’

  “‘And then?’

  “‘We waited outside the room. Then the Mother Superior arrived and I told her Lord St Amant was dead.’

  “‘Did she go in?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘Alone?’

  “‘No, I went in with her and stood by the door.’

  “‘Was anything touched?’

  “‘I don’t think so.’

  “‘Were the tablets still in the spoon?’

  “‘No.’

  “‘And then?’

  “‘The Mother Superior asked what I had to say: and I told her that I had known nothing until I came into the room.’

  “‘And then?’

  “‘The House Surgeon arrived.’

  “‘And then?’

  “‘He – he made an examination, and I – I began to feel faint. So a sister took me out and I sat on the terrace steps.’

  “‘Were the tablets mentioned?’

  “‘Yes. He asked me what they were and I said japonica. He asked how many, and I said only two.’

  “‘You were back in the room then?’

  “‘Yes. They sent for me.’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘Then the Mother Superior dismissed us. She sent me back to my quarters and told the other sister to send Sister Geneviève.’

  “‘But she and the doctor remained?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘Did you stay in your quarters till now?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘Did anyone visit you?’

  “‘The house surgeon came and gave me something to drink.’

  “‘Did you have a talk?’

  “‘Yes, he was very kind.’

  “‘Did he tell you there might be an Inquest?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘Anything else?’

  “‘He asked if at any time I had had any reason to think that Lord St Amant was not in excellent health.’

  “‘What did you say?’

  “‘None.’

  “‘Did anyone else visit you?’

  “‘The Mother Superior.’

  “‘What did she say?’

  “‘I don’t think I have the right to repeat what she said.’

  “‘In the ordinary way, no. But I’ll leave it there for the moment. I may have
to ask you again.’

  “‘What d’you mean – in the ordinary way?’

  “‘It may be found that his lordship died an unnatural death.’

  “‘You think he did?’

  “I looked at her very straight.

  “‘D’you think that his death was natural?’

  “After a little, she spoke in a very low voice.

  “‘Why don’t you think so?’

  “‘Well, he was so well – and then…that – that terrible look on his face.’

  “She put her face in her hands and began to weep again.

  “To give her time, I went to the writing-table, took a sheet of paper and made some notes.

  “Suddenly she burst out.

  “‘But who would want to kill him? He was so charming and gentle in every way.’

  “I turned on my chair.

  “‘That’s what I’ve got to find out – if anyone did. Before very long I shall know whether or no he was killed. And if he was and if I’m to find out who did it, I must have everyone’s help. You see, Sister Helena, I haven’t got second sight. I’ve just been questioning you: and I’m sure you’ve told me the truth. But it may very well be that you have a vital answer to some question I haven’t asked. If that is so, please don’t hold out on me. And please remember this – that you may not think it is vital, although it is.’

  “‘I see. I’ll bear that in mind.’

  “‘Thank you.’

  “‘Will they want me to go to the Inquest?’

  “‘Yes, I’m afraid they will. But I shall be there and I’ll do my best for you.’

  “‘When will it be?’

  “‘On Friday. I shall take your statement tomorrow, and the Coroner will question you from that.’

  “‘Will he…ask me anything else?’

  “‘I don’t quite see why he should.’

  “She hesitated. Then –

  “‘You see, Superintendent, we all have other names. I’m Sister Helena now, but I…used to be somebody else.’

  “‘I know. I’ll do my very best to see that you’re not asked that. But…’

  “‘But what?’

  “‘As things are or may be, I think that I ought to know. But you may depend upon me to tell no one else.’

  “She told me her name. I hope she didn’t see that it shook me, because it did. Her face had been vaguely familiar right from the first; but when she told me her name, I remembered who she was.

  “I thanked her and got to my feet.