Before the Fact Read online

  There were two whole days left of Beaky’s visit.

  Lina did not know what to do.

  She did not see how she could warn Beaky more than she had done already. If he had been too stupid to take her hints, then she had done all she could for him. Besides, it was not the possibility of Beaky losing his money that worried her in the least. That prospect meant nothing to her at all. What terrified her was the unmasking of Johnnie as the dishonest agent of Beaky’s loss.

  She did not know what to do.

  The thought occurred to her of asking Johnnie outright why this suspicious secrecy was necessary: of questioning and pestering him until she got at some clue to the plan that Johnnie must have in his mind. But Johnnie, she felt sure, would not allow himself to be questioned and pestered. And in her ignorance he could so easily put her off with a plausible answer. In any case, she did remember vaguely something about a prohibition against the removal of funds from England during the crisis; though whether it was still in force or not, she did not know. But such a prohibition there seemed to have been; and Beaky seemed to have contravened it; so the employment of secrecy would, according to Johnnie, be quite plausible.

  Sitting in front of her dressing-table mirror as she curled the back ends of her hair before dinner, Lina laid down the tongs and stared sightlessly at her own reflection. Why had Johnnie called the land scheme off so suddenly? And why had he been so anxious that Beaky should not know yet?

  And why, for that matter, had he told her?

  Had it been by way of preparation for some surprise later?

  Why, why, why?

  “Oh, God,” Lina breathed wretchedly.

  It was all beginning again; and she had thought it all finished. The old load of unfair responsibility, enormous responsibility which she hated so much and with which she felt herself so unfitted to cope, was pressing down on her again.

  She took up her tongs from their little nest of fire in the Meta holder and went on with her work. Whether one’s husband is meditating larceny on a grand scale or whether he is not, one’s back-hair must still be curled.

  She worked mechanically, her mind busy.

  The tongs slipped and burnt the side of her neck. She uttered a little squeak and searched hurriedly for cold cream.

  As if the physical stimulus had jogged her mind, her thoughts became less despondent. After all, what evidence had she? None at all. There was nothing whatever really to show that Johnnie was meditating any such crime. It had just been her intuition; and Lina had read enough books by men to know how fallible feminine intuition is.

  She had probably been imagining the whole thing.

  Yes, that was it. Her imagination, stimulated by fear and the knowledge of Johnnie’s old weakness, had carried her away. Johnnie had assured her only a couple of days ago that all that kind of thing was dead and buried. She must have more faith in him. Johnnie had not relapsed at all. She had imagined the whole thing.

  While she finished dressing Lina was very busy persuading herself that she had imagined the whole thing.

  4

  But in the drawing room after dinner her fears returned.

  Johnnie was so very attentive to Beaky.

  Uselessly Lina told herself that it was absurd of her to be suspicious because Johnnie was attentive to Beaky. She remembered only too well how attentive Johnnie had been to herself when he was about to rob her. And here was Johnnie behaving in exactly the same way to Beaky: laughing at his silly jokes, encouraging him to the reminiscence that Beaky loved, pressing drinks and cigars on him, quite ignoring his wife in his concentration on his guest.

  “Ho, ho!” roared Beaky, already rather drunk. “Here, draw it mild, old bean. You’ll have me tanked soon. What? I mean, won’t Lina have a spot?”

  “No, thank you,” said Lina coldly. She really disliked Beaky now, for being about to be robbed by Johnnie.

  Too restless to sit down, she moved to the piano, which she had not opened for months. Johnnie meant to rob Beaky. How was she going to stop it?

  “Going to strum?” inquired Beaky, superfluously. “Tophole. Here, I say, old bean, remember those songs old Hardy had on that gramophone of his? Pretty ghastly, what? Carolina Brown. Eh? Good God! Play Carolina Brown, Lina.”

  Lina played Debussy.

  She thought:

  “My husband’s going to rob you. You idiot! My husband’s going to rob you of fifteen thousand pounds. Why the hell can’t you stop him for yourself?”

  She got up from the piano.

  Beaky, egged on by Johnnie, was consuming yet another whisky-and-soda. He would probably be drunk soon. Was Johnnie trying to make him drunk? Why? Johnnie would certainly have no difficulty in making Beaky drunk if he wanted. Beaky did anything Johnnie suggested. And if he demurred, it only needed an adult version (and not so very adult either) of the old schoolboy “dare” to bring Beaky up to scratch at once. But why should Johnnie be trying, apparently, to make Beaky drunk here and now? The money in any case was in Paris.

  “I think I shall go to bed,” Lina said.

  Johnnie nodded. Beaky rose, not too steadily.

  Lina looked at him with distaste. She thought, again:

  “Yes, my husband’s going to rob you. He’s going to rob you of that fifteen thousand pounds as sure as eggs are eggs. He’s going to get that money if he has to kill you for it – if ...”

  “Darling – what’s the matter?” exclaimed Johnnie.

  “Hullo! Here, I say ... Good God!” said Beaky. Lina had fainted.

  5

  Johnnie meant to kill Beaky.

  Lina knew it.

  She could not prove it, she could not argue it, she could not defend her conviction in any way. She simply knew it.

  And what was she going to do about it?

  All night long, after Johnnie had carried her up to her bedroom, she lay awake, trying to force her distracted mind to deal with this dreadful emergency; and in the morning she still had no plan.

  Beaky was going the next day but one. And some time after that, unless she prevented it, Johnnie would kill him. She had two whole days in which to find a means of preventing it.

  What was she going to do?

  Stray remarks of Johnnie’s had taken on a new significance now. It was the last time Beaky would stay at Dellfield; the failure of the land scheme was a great disappointment, when Johnnie had not looked disappointed at all – when Johnnie had tried to look disappointed and failed. Lina saw now why Johnnie had abandoned the land scheme. It was horribly true that there was not enough profit in it. There would be far more profit in getting rid of Beaky altogether: there would be fifteen thousand pounds’ profit in that. And the reason for all that secrecy about the money was now only too plain. It would never be traced to Johnnie, because nobody at all except their three selves knew of its existence.

  But Johnnie had insisted on secrecy from the very first. Did that mean that from the very first he had meditated ...?

  Lina buried her burning face in her hot pillow. It was too horrible.

  And only she could stop it.

  And what was she going to do?

  6

  In the end she did nothing.

  As the morning drew on she saw more and more clearly that she had been making a colossal, a perfectly hideous mistake. A single stab of preposterous inspiration had led to a whole night’s nightmare; and that was all. It is ridiculous to take seriously the bogies that sit on one’s bed when one’s head is splitting and one cannot sleep. Indigestion! From indigestion of the stomach to indigestion of the mind is only a short step after all. The whole thing had been indigestion, and nothing more.

  Ordering the meals, doing the flowers, washing out a pair of stockings, among normal tasks and normal sights, Lina rapidly became normal herself. It was, she saw, and even smiled at herself for ever having failed to see it, quite impossible for murder to connect itself with such a very ordinary household as Dellfield.

  Murder!

  John
nie contemplating the murder of Beaky!

  Husband Johnnie contemplating the murder of friend Beaky!

  What could be more impossible?

  Of course there had been that incident four years ago. But that had not been murder. Not exactly murder. And it might very well not have been anything at all. Lina had never known. And nowadays she did not want to know. But more and more she had been taking it for granted lately that her imagination had created the whole thing. Nothing like that scene which she had visualized had ever taken place at all. She practically believed that now. She did believe it.

  So of course there simply was no precedent.

  And without a precedent this new piece of idiocy would naturally never have entered her mind at all.

  So there one was.

  But just to prove to herself how mistaken she had been, how wickedly mistaken, she noticed Johnnie very carefully during that evening; and Johnnie was perfectly normal.

  Johnnie was normal, Lina was normal, Beaky was as near normal as he ever could be: everything was normal. And too much imagination is a great curse.

  Fortunately Lina was far too worn out that night to exercise the curse. She slept for nine hours without opening an eye.

  7

  But in the morning her doubts returned.

  She felt heavy and depressed, as one does when one has slept too long. The breakfast tray seemed to weigh her down in bed; she did not even open The Times.

  Sipping her coffee, she tried to tackle the problem. This was no fit of silly panic; she ought to be able to see things in their right perspective now. Lina was quite sure (she kept telling herself how sure she was) that everything was quite all right; but the problem was, ought one not, with Johnnie, to be prepared for the worst?

  Lina felt dispiritedly that one ought. Everything was quite all right, of course. But one ought to insure against the worst by speaking the right word now.

  But to whom should one speak it, Beaky or Johnnie?

  How on earth could she say to Beaky: “Just be careful of Johnnie. Keep your eye on him. It’s quite on the cards that he’s made up his mind to kill you.” Impossible.

  And even less could one say to Johnnie: “I know you were responsible for Father’s death. I’ve a suspicion that you may be planning something of the same kind against Beaky. You’d better not; that’s all.”

  No. That would mean the end of everything between herself and Johnnie, if he once knew what she thought he had done – whether he had really done it or not. Their marriage could not continue.

  On the other hand ...

  “Oh, God,” said Lina wretchedly.

  She wished she had a stronger mind. She wished she was one of those people who always know exactly what to do, whatever the emergency.

  In her bath she tried to persuade herself that there was no emergency at all. She tried to recapture her happy conviction of yesterday. But it would not come. There was probably no emergency, but there might be. That was as near as she could get to it.

  And all the time she was busy stifling the horrid, heart-pumping dread, growing nearer to certainty every minute, that there was an emergency – a terrible emergency. And that she herself was too cowardly to face it.

  All the morning the feeling grew on her. What was she going to do? The normal tasks, which yesterday had restored her sanity, to-day seemed grimly ironical, in comparison with the horror that was fermenting.

  She was alone in the house, except for the servants.

  Johnnie and Beaky had gone off in the car, to look at some land that was for sale on some cliffs somewhere by the sea. They were to be back for lunch.

  Suddenly the thought pierced her: why had Johnnie taken Beaky to look at more land, when he had already decided that the land scheme was a failure?

  Why had he taken Beaky to some cliffs?

  Lina started up from the chair on which she had been sitting. Her sewing was strewed, unregarded, on the floor. She pressed her hand to her aching forehead. She knew now. The time had come. Johnnie was going to push Beaky over the cliff.

  The time had come, and here was she in Upcottery, unable to prevent it. She did not even know where they had gone. But she must do something. Anything. She could not sit here while somewhere else Johnnie was committing murder. Johnnie must be saved from committing murder. What was she to do – what was she to do?

  In a panic of indecision a dozen hopeless plans flashed across her mind. She would ring up the police; she would borrow someone’s car and drive like mad to the likeliest place; she would get the B. B. C. to broadcast an S O S, she would ...

  She made little darting runs, towards the telephone, towards the front door, towards the kitchen.

  This would not do. This was utter idiocy. If Beaky was to be saved, she must keep calm. She must keep calm. She must think, calmly and coolly, what was best to do.

  She could not keep calm. Across her distracted vision the whole scene passed, in a series of horrid little vignettes: the car running smoothly over the turf as it drew off the road, Beaky, appreciative and loudly old-beaning, Johnnie inviting him to look over the edge of the cliff at the rocks below, that sudden thrust in the small of Beaky’s back, Beaky dropping, dropping, dropping, turning leisurely over in the air, until ...

  Lina screwed her knuckles into her eyes. What was she to do?

  It was half-past twelve.

  She could do nothing.

  In an apathy of despair she sat down again. Well, she would know soon enough now. They were to be back for lunch. If within the next half hour they had not returned....

  They did not return within the next half hour.

  At half-past one Lina, pale and trembling but with a composed face, lunched alone, for the benefit of the servants. She had thought it all out. At the inquest it would be fatal, quite fatal, if there appeared any hint that she had been anticipating what happened. That would at once throw doubt on its being an accident at all. Lina quite understood that. She was calm now, and she knew that Johnnie’s life depended on her keeping her head.

  As she drank her soup she thought:

  “Beaky’s dead now.”

  It was strange that she could think that with so little emotion.

  At ten minutes to two Johnnie and Beaky drove up to the front door.

  Lina ran out to meet them and fell into Johnnie’s arms, sobbing.

  “Oh, Johnnie!”

  “Sorry we’re so late, darling. Hullo, what’s up?”

  “I’ve been imagining the most dreadful things,” Lina wept, with truth.

  8

  Actually the truth was just as far as it could have been from Lina’s imaginings. So far from Johnnie ever having contemplated killing Beaky, he had saved Beaky’s life; and at the greatest danger to his own.

  “The old bean won’t tell you a word about it himself, I’ll bet,” Beaky bubbled, “so you can have it straight from the horse’s mouth, what? Damned close shave. We both of us nearly conked, I can tell you. Good God! Bit of a hero, old bean, aren’t you? What?”

  “Oh, shut up, you ass,” Johnnie grinned.

  What had happened was that they had run the Bentley onto the turf bordering the cliffs, exactly as Lina had imagined, while they looked round. When they were ready to leave Beaky, who was driving, had turned the car round while Johnnie stood by the edge, idly watching the waves among the rocks at the bottom. He had glanced up, to see Beaky still backing and Beaky’s back wheels within a foot of the edge. With completely characteristic asininity, Beaky was manœuvring on the very limited piece of turf without even looking towards his rear.

  Johnnie had to act in a flash. There was no time to warn Beaky. Before his shout could penetrate Beaky’s understanding, the car would be over the cliff. He leapt forward, bounded onto the running board, and clutched the hand brake. The engine stalled, there was a lurch and a thud, and the car had come to rest with its back wheels spinning free in the air. It was half over the cliff, but it stopped there. Johnnie and Beaky climbed very gin
gerly out, to find labourers and a horse to drag the car into safety.

  The chances had been about even whether Johnnie, clinging desperately to the hand brake, might not have gone over the cliff with the car.

  “I tell you, the old bean’s a pukka hero!” spluttered Beaky.

  Lina looked at Johnnie, her eyes wet. How could she have thought such things about him? It would have served her right if Johnnie had been killed in trying to do the very opposite from what she had so wickedly thought.

  “Oh, Johnnie!” she muttered.

  9

  That evening the rescue of Beaky was celebrated.

  Never had Johnnie been merrier or Beaky more boisterous.

  Lina felt as if years had been taken off her age.

  10

  “Well, cheer-oh,” said Beaky, extending a large hand. “Thanks frightfully, and all that sort of rot. What?”

  Johnnie was peering into the radiator of Beaky’s Bentley. “Hullo, you’re a bit short of water. I’ll get a can while you’re making your farewells to Lina.”

  “Will you really? I say, thanks frightfully.”

  “And you’re going straight up to Yorkshire?” Lina said conversationally.

  “That’s the idea.”

  “But you’ll never do it in a day, from here.”

  “What? Oh, I say, draw it mild. Only about three hundred, to my place. Bit boring though, alone. May stay a night in some pub. See what happens. What? Here, I say, don’t stand out here. Too parky, what?”

  “I’m quite all right,” Lina smiled. “And when are we going to see you again, Beaky?”

  “What, me? God knows. I mean.... Oh, I’ll tootle along sometime, I expect. Depends when you ask me, doesn’t it? What? Eh?” Beaky evidently considered this a joke and paid tribute to it heartily.

  Something said clearly in Lina’s mind: “You’ll never see Beaky again. Never! Unless ...”

  The blood drained from her face. She stared at him.

  A terrible thought had come to her.