The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag

I took hold of the door handle and turned it quietly. If Dogger was nearby, I knew he'd be alerted by the slightest sound, and would come running to see who was burgling the coach house. God bless the good ship Rolls-Royce, and all who sail in her, I thought as the heavy door swung open in utter silence, and I hauled myself up into the driver's seat.

I inhaled the plush motorcar scent, as Harriet must once have done, and prepared to curl myself up into a ball. With any luck, and the near-darkness, I'd be asleep in less than a minute. There would be time enough later to think about murder.

As I stretched luxuriously, my fingers touched something: the skin of a human leg, by the feel of it. Before I could let out a scream, someone clapped a hand tightly over my mouth.

"Keep still!" a voice hissed into my ear.

My eyes rolled like a horse's in a slaughterhouse. Even in that dim light I could see the face of the person who was stifling me.

It was Nialla.

My first inclination was to bite off one of her fingers: I have a phobia about being physically restrained, and there are times when my reflexes are faster than reason.

"Don't make a sound!" she whispered, giving me a little shake. "I need your help."

Damn! She had given the female password--spoken those magic words that stretched back through the mists of time to a bond made in some primordial swamp. I was in her power. I went instantly limp and nodded my head. She removed her hand.

"Are the police looking for me?" she asked.

"I--I don't think so. I don't know," I said. "I'm not exactly one of their confidantes."

I was still a little miffed at being seized and shaken.

"Oh, come off it, Flavia," she said. "Don't go all shirty on me. I need to know. Are they looking for me?"

"I haven't seen the police since Saturday night, right after Rupert was--after Rupert--"

Although I have no qualms about the word, I couldn't bring myself to say it to Nialla's face.

"Murdered," she said, falling back into her seat. "Nor have I. That Inspector simply wouldn't stop asking me questions. It was horrid."

"Murdered?" I spat out the word as if the thought had never crossed my mind. "What makes you think Rupert was murdered?"

"It's what everyone thinks: the police, and now you. You just said 'right after Rupert was--' That implies something, doesn't it? Murdered ... killed, what difference does it make? You certainly weren't about to say 'right after Rupert died,' and don't pretend you were. I'm not a fool, Flavia, so please don't keep treating me as if I were."

"Perhaps it was an accident," I said, stalling to get my thoughts organized.

"Would the police have spent half the night grilling the audience, if they thought it was an accident?"

She had a point.

"What's worse," she went on, "is they think I did it."

"I can see why," I said.

"What? Whose side are you on, anyway? I told you I needed help and suddenly you're accusing me of murder!"

"I am not accusing you of murder," I said. "I'm merely stating the obvious."

"Which is?"

She was becoming angrier by the minute.

"Which is," I said, taking a deep breath, "that you've been in hiding, that Rupert had been beating you, that there was Another Woman, and that you're pregnant."

In these waters, I was well in over my head, but still, determined to swim like a dog tossed off the end of a pier. Even so, the effect of my words on Nialla was quite remarkable. I thought for an instant that she was going to slap my face.

"Is it that obvious?" she asked, her lip trembling.

"It is to me," I replied. "I can't speak for anyone else."

"Do you think I did it? Killed Rupert, I mean?"

"I don't know," I said. "I shouldn't have judged you capable of such a thing, but then I'm no Spilsbury."

Although Sir Bernard had been a dab hand at fingering murderers, including those two great poisoners Dr. Crippen and Major Armstrong, he had, oddly enough, taken his own life by gassing himself in his laboratory. Still, I thought, if Spilsbury were alive, he would be the first to point out that Nialla had the means, the motive, and the opportunity.

"Stop prattling on like that," she snapped. "Do you think I murdered Rupert?"

"Did you?" I shot back.

"I can't answer that," she said. "You mustn't ask me."

I was no stranger to such female sparring: Eleven years under the same roof as Feely and Daffy had made me quite immune to that sort of ducking and dodging.

"All right," I persisted, "but if you didn't, then who did?"

By now, I had become accustomed to the dusky light of the coach house, and I watched as Nialla's eyes widened like luminous twin moons.

There was a long, and rather unpleasant, silence.

"If it wasn't you," I said at last, "then why are you hiding out here?"

"I'm not hiding out! I needed to get away. I told you that. The police, the Mullets--"

"I understand about the Mullets," I told her. "I'd rather spend a morning in the dentist's chair than listen to an hour of Mrs. Mullet's rattling on."