‘But – you know all this! Roderick, do you also know what they have found out?’
‘No. I have no idea what they found out. Had Bunchy?’
‘That is what horrifies me. Bunchy knew, at least, that I was being persecuted. When Bridgie brought back that hideous bag last night I nearly collapsed. I can’t tell you what a shock it was to me. You are quite right, a letter, like the one you described, came a few days ago. There had been others. I didn’t answer them. I destroyed them all and tried to put them out of my mind. I thought perhaps they wouldn’t go on with it if I paid no attention. But this one threatened dreadful things, things that would hurt Bridgie so much – so much. It said that if I didn’t do as I was ordered Herbert and Bridgie would be told about – everything. I couldn’t face that. I did what they said. I put five hundred pounds in green notes in the bag and left it on the little table in the green sitting-room before one o’clock. And then Bridgie must have seen it. I shall never forget her coming into the supper-room, laughing and holding out that bag. I suppose I must have looked frightful. It’s all muddled in my mind now, like the memory of a terrible dream. Somehow we got rid of Bridgie. Bunchy must have been splendid. Sir Daniel Davidson was there. I’ve been to see him lately about my health and he had said something to me before that evening. I got rid of him, too, and then Bunchy and I went out into the hall and Bunchy said he knew what I wanted to do with my bag and begged me not to do it. I was frantic. I broke away from him and went back again to the green sitting-room. Nobody was there. I put the bag back on the table. It was then twenty to one. I put it behind a big ormolu and enamel box on the table. Then I went down to the ballroom. I don’t know how much later it was when I saw Dimitri coming through the room with the bag. At first I thought the same thing had happened again, but when I took it in my hand I knew the money had gone. Dimitri had found the bag, he said, and recognized it as mine. That’s all.’
‘That’s all,’ repeated Alleyn. ‘It’s a good deal. Look here, Evelyn, Fm going to ask you point-blank, is it possible that Dimitri is the man who is blackmailing you?
‘Dimitri!’ Her eyes opened wide. ‘Good heavens, no! No, no, it’s out of the question. He couldn’t possibly have any idea, any means of knowing. Not possibly.’
‘Are you sure of that? He is in and out of people’s houses and has free access to their rooms. He has opportunities of overhearing conversations, of watching people when they are off their guard.’
‘How long has he been doing this work?’
‘He told me seven years.’
‘My secret is more than twice as old as that. “Lady Audley’s Secret”! But it’s not so amusing, Roderick, when you carry it about with you. And yet, do you know, there have been times when I have almost forgotten my secret. It all happened so very long ago. The years have sifted past and mounted like sand into smooth unremarkable shapes and they have gradually hidden the old times. I thought I should never be able to speak of this to anyone in the world, but, oddly enough, it is rather a relief to talk about it.’
‘You realize, don’t you, that I am here to investigate a murder? It’s my job to work out the circumstances surrounding it. I must have no consideration for anybody’s feelings if they come between me and the end of the job. Bunchy knew you were the victim of a blackmailer. You are not the only victim. He was actually working with us on information we had from another source but which points directly to the same individual. It’s quite possible, and to us it seems probable, that the blackmailing may be linked with the murder. So we have a double incentive to get at the blackmailer’s identity.’
‘I know what you are going to ask me. I have no idea who it is. None. I’ve asked myself over and over again who it could be.’
‘Yes. Now see here, Evelyn, I could get up to all the old tricks, and with any luck I’d probably get a line on this secret of yours. I’d trap you into little admissions and when I got away from here I’d write them all down, add them up, and see what I could make of the answer. Probably there wouldn’t be an answer so we’d begin to dig and dig. Back through those years that have sifted over your trouble and hidden it. And sooner or later we would find something. It would all be very disagreeable and I should hate it and the final result would be exactly the same as if you told me your whole story now.’
‘I can’t. I can’t tell you.’
‘You are thinking of the consequences. Newspaper publicity. Court proceedings. You know it wouldn’t be nearly as bad as you imagine. Your name would probably never appear.’
‘Madame X,’ said Lady Carrados with a faint smile, ‘and everybody in court knowing perfectly well who I was. Oh, it’s not for myself I mind. It’s Bridgie. And Herbert. You’ve met Herbert and you must realize how he’d take a blow of this sort. I can think of nobody who would mind more.’
‘And how is he going to take it if we find out for ourselves? Evelyn, think! You’re one of Bunchy’s friends.’
‘I’m not a revengeful woman.’
‘Good God, it’s not a question of revenge. It’s a question of leaving a blackmailing murderer at large.’
‘You needn’t go on, Roderick. I know quite well what I ought to do.’
‘And I know quite well that you’re going to do it.’
They looked squarely at each other. Her hands made a gesture of surrender.
‘Very well,’ said Lady Carrados. ‘I give in. How much more dignified it would have been, wouldn’t it, if I had accepted my duty at first?’
‘I had no doubt about what you’d do. It’s quite possible, you know, that your side of the business need never come out. Of course, I can’t promise this, but it is possible we’ll work on your information without putting it in as evidence.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said faintly.
‘You’re being ironical,’ said Alleyn with a grin, ‘and that shows you’re not going to mind as much as you feared, or I hope it does. Now then. It’s something about Bridget, isn’t it, and it happened more than fourteen years ago. Bridget’s how old? Seventeen?’
Lady Carrados nodded.
‘I don’t believe I ever met your first husband, Evelyn. Is Bridget very like him?’
‘Yes. She’s got all Paddy’s gaiety.’
‘My mother told me that. Bridget doesn’t remember him, of course. Ought we to begin with him?’
‘Yes. You needn’t go on being delicate, Roderick. I think you’ve guessed, haven’t you? Paddy and I were not married.’
‘Bless my soul,’ said Alleyn, ‘how very courageous of you, Evelyn.’
‘I think it was now but it didn’t seem so then. Nobody knew. It’s the Jane Eyre theme but I hadn’t Miss Eyre’s moral integrity. Paddy left a wife in an Australian lunatic asylum, came home, and fell in love with me. As you would say in your report, we went through a form of marriage and lived happily and bigamously together. Then Paddy died.’
‘Weren’t you afraid it would come out?’
‘No. Paddy’s wife had no relations.’ Lady Carrados waited for a moment. She seemed to be gravely contemplating the story she had decided to relate. When she spoke again it was with composure and even, or so Alleyn fancied, an air of relaxation. He wondered if she had often marshalled the facts in her own mind and rehearsed her story to an imaginary listener. The quiet voice went on sedately: ‘She was a music-hall comedienne who had been left stranded in a little town in New South Wales. He married her there and took her to Sydney. Six weeks later she became