Twenty-four

IThey stared at him.

“Didn’t expect that, did you?”

Restarick said angrily: “You’re wrong. That girl doesn’t even know whatshe’s done. She’s innocent — completely innocent. She can’t be held re-sponsible for what she doesn’t know she’s done.”

“You let me talk for a while. I know what I’m talking about. You don’t.

That girl is sane and responsible for her actions. In a moment or two we’llhave her in and let her speak for herself. She’s the only one who hasn’thad the chance of speaking for herself! Oh yes, they’ve got her here still—locked up with a police matron in her bedroom. But before we ask her aquestion or two, I’ve got something to say that you’d better hear first.

“When that girl came to me she was full of drugs.”

“And he gave them to her!” shouted Restarick. “That degenerate, miser-able boy.”

“He started her on them, no doubt.”

“Thank God,” said Restarick. “Thank God for it.”

“What are you thanking God for?”

“I misunderstood you. I thought you were going to throw her to the lionswhen you kept harping on her being sane. I misjudged you. It was thedrugs that did it. Drugs that made her do things she would never havedone of her own volition, and left her with no knowledge of having donethem.”

Stillingfleet raised his voice:

“If you let me talk instead of talking so much yourself, and being so sureyou know all about everything, we might get on a bit. First of all, she’s notan addict. There are no marks of injections. She didn’t sniff snow.

Someone or other, perhaps the boy, perhaps someone else, was adminis-tering drugs to her without her knowledge. Not just a purple heart or twoin the modern fashion. A rather interesting medley of drugs—LSD givingvivid dream sequences—nightmares or pleasurable. Hemp distorting thetime factor, so that she might believe an experience has lasted an hour in-stead of a few minutes. And a good many other curious substances that Ihave no intention of letting any of you know about. Somebody who wasclever with drugs played merry hell with that girl. Stimulants, sedatives,they all played their part in controlling her, and showing her to herself as acompletely different person.”

Restarick interrupted: “That’s what I say. Norma wasn’t responsible!

Someone was hypnotising her to do these things.”

“You still haven’t got the point! Nobody could make the girl do what shedidn’t want to do! What they could do, was make her think she had done it.

Now we’ll have her in and make her see what’s been happening to her.”

He looked inquiringly at Chief Inspector Neele, who nodded.

Stillingfleet spoke over his shoulder to Claudia, as he went out of the sit-ting room. “Where’d you put that other girl, the one you took away fromJacobs, gave a sedative to? In her room on her bed? Better shake her up abit, and drag her along, somehow. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

Claudia also went out of the sitting room.

Stillingfleet came back, propelling Norma, and uttering rough encour-agement.

“There’s a good girl…Nobody’s going to bite you. Sit there.”

She sat obediently. Her docility was still rather frightening.

The policewoman hovered by the door looking scandalised.

“All I’m asking you to do is to speak the truth. It isn’t nearly as difficultas you think.”

Claudia came in with Frances Cary. Frances was yawning heavily. Herblack hair hung like a curtain hiding half her mouth as she yawned andyawned again.

“You need a pick-me-up,” said Stillingfleet to her.

“I wish you’d all let me go to sleep,” murmured Frances indistinctly.

“Nobody’s going to have a chance of sleep until I’ve done with them!

Now, Norma, you answer my questions—That woman along the passagesays you admitted to her that you killed David Baker. Is that right?”

Her docile voice said:

“Yes. I killed David.”

“Stabbed him?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know you did?”

She looked faintly puzzled. “I don’t know what you mean. He was thereon the floor—dead.”

“Where was the knife?”

“I picked it up.”

“It had blood on it?”

“Yes. And on his shirt.”

“What did it feel like—the blood on the knife? The blood that you got onyour hand and had to wash off—Wet? Or more like strawberry jam?”

“It was like strawberry jam — sticky.” She shivered. “I had to go andwash it off my hands.”

“Very sensible. Well, that ties up everything very nicely. Victim, mur-derer—you—all complete with the weapon. Do you remember actually do-ing it?”

“No…I don’t remember that…But I must have done it, mustn’t I?”

“Don’t ask me! I wasn’t there. It’s you are the one who’s saying it. Butthere was another killing before that, wasn’t there? An earlier killing.”

“You mean—Louise?”

“Yes. I mean Louise…When did you first think of killing her?”

“Years ago. Oh, years ago.”

“When you were a child.”

“Yes.”

“Had to wait a long time, didn’t you?”

“I’d forgotten all about it.”

“Until you saw her again and recognised her?”

“Yes.”

“When you were a child, you hated her. Why?”

“Because she took Father, my father, away.”

“And made your mother unhappy?”

“Mother hated Louise. She said Louise was a really wicked woman.”

“Talked to you about her a lot, I suppose?”

“Yes. I wish she hadn’t…I didn’t want to go on hearing about her.”

“Monotonous—I know. Hate isn’t creative. When you saw her again didyou really want to kill her?”

Norma seemed to consider. A faintly interested look came into her face.

“I didn’t, really, you know…It seemed all so long ago. I couldn’t imaginemyself—that’s why—”

“Why you weren’t sure you had?”

“Yes. I had some quite wild idea that I hadn’t killed her at all. That it hadbeen all a dream. That perhaps she really had thrown herself out of thewindow.”

“Well—why not?”

“Because I knew I had done it—I said I had done it.”

“You said you had done it? Who did you say that to?”

Norma shook her head. “I mustn’t…It was someone who tried to be kind—to help me. She said she was going to pretend to have known nothingabout it.” She went on, the words coming fast and excitedly: “I was outsideLouise’s door, the door of 76, just coming out of it. I thought I’d been walk-ing in my sleep. They—she—said there had been an accident. Down in thecourtyard. She kept telling me it had been nothing to do with me. Nobodywould ever know—And I couldn’t remember what I had done—but therewas stuff in my hand—”

“Stuff? What stuff? Do you mean blood?”

“No, not blood—torn curtain stuff. When I’d pushed her out.”

“You remember pushing her out, do you?”

“No, no. That’s what was so awful. I didn’t remember anything. That’swhy I hoped. That’s why I went—” She turned her head towards Poirot—“to him—”

She turned back again to Stillingfleet.

“I never remembered the things I’d done, none of them. But I got moreand more frightened. Because there used to be quite long times that wereblank—quite blank—hours I couldn’t account for, or remember where I’dbeen and what I’d been doing. But I found things—things I must have hid-den away myself. Mary was being poisoned by me, they found out she wasbeing poisoned at the hospital. And I found the weed killer I’d hidden awayin the drawer. In the flat here there was a flick-knife. And I had a revolverthat I didn’t even know I’d bought! I did kill people, but I didn’t rememberkilling them, so I’m not really a murderer—I’m just—mad! I realised thatat last. I’m mad, and I can’t help it. People can’t blame you if you do thingswhen you are mad. If I could come here and even kill David, it shows I ammad, doesn’t it?”

“You’d like to be mad, very much?”

“I—yes, I suppose so.”

“If so, why did you confess to someone that you had killed a woman bypushing her out of the window? Who was it you told?”

Norma turned her head, hesitated. Then raised her hand and pointed.

“I told Claudia.”

“That is absolutely untrue.” Claudia looked at her scornfully. “You neversaid anything of the kind to me!”

“I did. I did.”

“When? Where?”

“I—don’t know.”

“She told me that she had confessed it all to you,” said Frances indis-tinctly. “Frankly, I thought she was hysterical and making the whole thingup.”

Stillingfleet looked across at Poirot.

“She could be making it all up,” he said judicially. “There is quite a casefor that solution. But if so, we would have to find the motive, a strongmotive, for her desiring the death of those two people, Louise Carpenterand David Baker. A childish hate? Forgotten and done with years ago?

Nonsense. David—just to be ‘free of him?’ It is not for that that girls kill!

We want better motives than that. A whacking great lot of money—say!—Greed!” He looked round him and his voice changed to a conventionaltone.

“We want a little more help. There’s still one person missing. Your wifeis a long time joining us here, Mr. Restarick?”

“I can’t think where Mary can be. I’ve rung up. Claudia has left mes-sages in every place we can think of. By now she ought to have rung up atleast from somewhere.”

“Perhaps we have the wrong idea,” said Hercule Poirot. “Perhaps Ma-dame is at least partly here already—in a manner of speaking.”

“What on earth do you mean?” shouted Restarick angrily.

“Might I trouble you, chère Madame?”

Poirot leaned towards Mrs. Oliver. Mrs. Oliver stared.

“The parcel I entrusted to you—”

“Oh.” Mrs. Oliver dived into her shopping bag. She handed the blackfolder to him.

He heard a sharply indrawn breath near him, but did not turn his head.

He shook off the wrappings delicately and held up—a wig of bouffantgolden hair.

“Mrs. Restarick is not here,” he said, “but her wig is. Interesting.”

“Where the devil did you get that, Poirot?” asked Neele.

“From the overnight bag of Miss Frances Cary from which she had as yetno opportunity of removing it. Shall we see how it becomes her?”

With a single deft movement, he swept aside the black hair that maskedFrances’s face so effectively. Crowned with a golden aureole before shecould defend herself, she glared at them.

Mrs. Oliver exclaimed:

“Good gracious—it is Mary Restarick.”

Frances was twisting like an angry snake. Restarick jumped from hisseat to come to her—but Neele’s strong grip restrained him.

“No. We don’t want any violence from you. The game’s up, you know,Mr. Restarick—or shall I call you Robert Orwell—”

A stream of profanity came from the man’s lips. Frances’s voice wasraised sharply:

“Shut up, you damned fool!” she said.