CHAPTER 29
Mrs. Jackson was a young woman of decision. Rejecting the tubular chair, she had picked one out for herself and set it at the angle which she preferred. Old Lamb contemplated her with relief. He never got over his dislike of interviewing the near relations of what his report would presently call the deceased. Mrs. Jackson had obviously been crying, but she wasn’t crying now, and she had a businesslike air. He judged her to be the elder sister, and thought she might easily be a mine of information. One- or two-and-thirty, and a plain likeness of the murdered girl, was what he put her at.
He began by being sorry for having kept her waiting. And then,
“I’m afraid, Mrs. Jackson, I must ask you some questions about your sister’s private life. She was on the stage?”
Ella Jackson sniffed. It might have been the aftermath of the tears, or it might not.
“Chorus parts, pantomime, and now and again a travelling company,” she said.
“And her last engagement?”
“Six months ago, at the Trivia Theatre. She was in the chorus there.”
“And since then?”
“Resting,” said Mrs. Jackson laconically.
Sergeant Abbott bent over his notebook. This was the sort of witness who didn’t give anything away. If you thought of the right question you’d get the right answer-perhaps.
Lamb went on.
“Was your sister married or single?”
“She was a widow.”
“Can you tell me her married name?”
Ella Jackson hesitated. Then she said,
“Well, she wasn’t using it, but I suppose it doesn’t matter now. It was Armitage.”
Lamb’s voice was at its pleasantest as he leaned towards her and said,
“Will you tell us a little more about your sister’s marriage, Mrs. Jackson? It has a definite bearing on the case.”
She looked startled, but she answered at once.
“Oh, there’s nothing to hide. She wasn’t married to him for very long. He was a nice young fellow a good bit younger than her, and I don’t know how it would have turned out. Let me see-they were married in March last year, and he got killed at Dunkirk in May.”
“Did he leave your sister provided for?”
She had that startled look again.
“Well no-he didn’t. Carrie thought there was money, that’s a fact, but it turned out he only got an allowance from his brother.”
“Major Giles Armitage?”
“That’s right.”
“Did Major Armitage continue the allowance after his brother’s death?”
“He gave her four hundred a year.”
“Did you know that he was supposed to have been drowned, but that he recently turned up again, and that he had an interview with your sister yesterday?”
Mrs. Jackson coloured and said,
“Yes.”
Lamb went on.
“He was suffering from loss of memory-I suppose your sister told you that?”
“Yes.”
“Did she tell you that she took advantage of this fact to try and make him believe that she was his wife?”
Ella Jackson looked distressed.
“Yes, she told me. And I told her it was right down wicked and she’d be getting herself into trouble if she didn’t look out.”
“And what did she say to that?”
“She laughed and said it was only a joke. And when I said that sort of joke could make a lot of trouble, she said she’d been wanting to score him off and it was much too good a chance to be missed.”
“She didn’t give you the impression that it was a serious attempt to get money out of Major Armitage?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that, or she wouldn’t have told me about it-she knew what I’d say. It was nothing in the world but a joke.”
Lamb said, “I see-” and then, “You came to see your sister last night, didn’t you? Bell saw you come in. What time would you say that was?”
“Seven o’clock,” said Mrs. Jackson. “I looked at my watch because I’d got a bus to catch.”
“Yes-that agrees with Bell. And when did you leave?”
“Twenty past. Carrie came to the corner with me and saw me on my bus. I only just caught it.”
“How was she dressed, Mrs. Jackson?”
For the first time Ella Jackson faltered. She dropped her voice to keep it steady.
“A white dress and a fur coat-a long white dress.”
“She had changed for the evening?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know if she was expecting anyone?”
“I don’t know-she didn’t tell me.”
“Would she have changed if she hadn’t been expecting someone?”
“She might have done. She had pretty clothes and she liked wearing them.”
Lamb shifted in his chair.
“Did your sister offer you any refreshment?”
Mrs. Jackson looked surprised.
“Oh, no. She knew I couldn’t stay.”
“You didn’t have drinks together?”
“Oh no.”
“Mrs. Jackson-was there a tray set out with drinks in the room whilst you were here?”
She shook her head.
“Oh, no.”
“Quite sure about that? It’s important.”
“Oh, yes, I’m quite sure. There wasn’t any tray.”
Frank Abbott wrote. Lamb shifted again.
“Because that tray was here on the stool in front of the fire when she was found. She’d been drinking with someone-both glasses had been used.”
Ella Jackson coloured up. Just for a moment she was very like her sister.
“Carrie didn’t drink.”
Lamb hastened to pacify her.
“Well, I didn’t mean that in the way you’ve taken it-only that she’d been having a drink with a friend. There was a little red wine in the glass she had used-port wine.”
Ella nodded.
“Yes, it would be port if it was anything. But it wouldn’t be more than a thimbleful. I wouldn’t like you to think she was one of those drinking girls, because she wasn’t.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Jackson. Now would you mind taking a look at this letter? It was in your sister’s blotter, and as you will see, it was written on Tuesday and left unfinished.”
Ella ran her eyes over the lines in which Carola Roland had told the gentleman whom she addressed as Toots how much she missed him, and what a nun-like existence she was leading at Vandeleur House. “Missing my Toots so dreadfully.” The words swam for a moment before Ella’s eyes, but she blinked them back into focus.
“Do you know the name of this gentleman she was writing to?”
Ella blinked again.
“She was going to marry him,” she said.
“After he’d got his divorce-that’s what the letter implies, doesn’t it?”
Ella nodded.
“That’s the reason she came down here-to be quiet.”
“Whilst the divorce was going through?”
She nodded.
“What brought her to Vandeleur House?”
“Mr. Bell told me there was a flat to let. Carrie wanted to be near me.”
“I see. And now, Mrs. Jackson, what about the gentleman’s name? I think you know it.”
She looked distressed.
“Yes, I do, but-”
Lamb shook his head.
“That won’t do, I’m afraid. We’ve got to have it. Things can’t be kept private in a murder case, Mrs. Jackson. You’ll have to give it to us.”
“Well, it’s Mr. Maundersley-Smith-the Mr. Maundersley-Smith.”
Frank Abbott’s eyebrows went up as far as they would go. Old Lamb stared and frowned. Maundersley-Smith! By gum! No wonder the girl thought it was worth while to bury herself in Vandeleur House and live like a nun, for Mr. Maundersley-Smith was a hub of the Empire, a prince of the shipping world, a household word for success and wealth. Miss Carola Roland had played high, and if the fingerprints on the larger glass proved to be his, Mr. Maundersley-Smith might be called on to foot a heavier bill than even he could afford. Well, well, that was as might be. Meanwhile-
He addressed himself again to Ella Jackson.
“Did you see anyone besides Bell, either coming or going?”
There were signs of definite relief at the change of subject. For the first time information was volunteered.
“Well, not exactly coming or going, because it was while I was up here with Carrie. He came and rang the bell, and she sent him away-laughed at him, and called him a silly little man, and said she hadn’t got time for him.”