When Last I Died

Mrs. Bradley returned to the Stone House at Wandles Parva full of cheerfulness, and remained there for five days. At the end of that time she had given up the idea of her proposed stay in the village where Tessa Foxley had been drowned, but had paid three visits there. There was no doubt, it seemed, that Bella Foxley's alibi for the time of the murder was, although slightly shaky theoretically, almost fool-proof from a practical standpoint. The tremendous risks attendant upon transporting her sister's dead body in daylight from the rain-water butt outside the back door of the cottage to the village pond were a deterrent to any but a maniac, Mrs. Bradley decided.

Bella Foxley, whatever her peculiarities, was no lunatic, and Mrs. Bradley abandoned, without regret, the theory that the idiot boy had been a witness of the murder of Tessa Foxley. The more likely explanation, it seemed, was that he had been a witness that Bella had indeed saved her sister from a suicidal drowning.

The next task, that of tracing the man who had bigamously married Tessa, proved less difficult and complicated than she had feared. The man, who had served a prison sentence, was working in a Salvation Army shelter. He responded readily to Mrs. Bradley's advertisement, established his identity by appeal to the Court missionary and admitted that Tessa had been 'kind of weak in the head.' He also stated that it was not for her 'or the likes of her' he had 'done his stretch,' that he believed she had had money, but that this proved 'the biggest washout of the lot,' and that he was 'going straight' and didn't 'need to be afraid of no-one.'

Painstakingly, Mrs. Bradley sifted fact from opinion, and opinion from lies, and convinced herself that she was left, at the end, with a residue of truth which, if not particularly valuable in itself, had its point as contributory evidence. Tessa had been weak. vacillating and of suicidal tendencies.

"In fact, I wouldn't help to hang Bella Foxley or anybody else...."

"Even the rice-pudding Muriel ..." interpolated Ferdinand, with a grin ...

"... upon such evidence as we have in connection with Tessa Foxley's death," said Mrs. Bradley.

"So what?" her son not unnaturally enquired.

"So—another interview with the prisoner so that I can explore fresh avenues," said Mrs. Bradley, with a cackle of pure pleasure.

"'So we sought and we found, and we bayed on his track,'" quoted Ferdinand unkindly. But his mother's only response was another cackle.

"Something up her sleeve," thought Ferdinand uneasily. "Now where have we all slipped up?"

This second interview was not, in some ways, either more or less satisfactory than the first one had been. The prisoner, puffy under the eyes and with skin as unsavoury as ever, raised sardonic eyebrows and greeted Mrs. Bradley ironically.

"What, you again?" she said. Mrs. Bradley agreed, cheerfully, that it was.

"And when do we go through the performance again?" enquired Bella Foxley.

"I don't know exactly. But, tell me, Miss Foxley—that diary of yours. Your own unaided work—as they say in competitions for children—or not?"

"Diary? Oh, diary. I suppose Eliza Hodge handed it over?"

"Well, yes and no. A small boy, my grandson, discovered it in your aunt's house. Eliza lets the house during the summer months, as I daresay you know."

"Very nice, too. Yes, I believe I did keep a diary. Why? I haven't kept one for—since—Oh, well, you probably know the date of it."

But she looked hopefully at Mrs. Bradley as she said this, as though anticipating that Mrs. Bradley might not know.

"Well, the date of the year was on it—printed on it—and although that, in itself, is not, perhaps, proof positive that the items were written in that same year, the chain of events with which the diary seems to be concerned dates it without doubt. Tell me, Miss Foxley—for I gather you do not propose to answer my former question ..."

"Which one?"

"Whether the diary was your own unaided work."

"Oh, lord! Of course it was! What a silly question!"

"You will take back that unkind remark later on, I think."

"Maybe. And—maybe! Well, go on."

"By all means. Time is short, of course."

"You're dern tooting it's short," Bella agreed. "They'll get me next time, I reckon. Well, I should worry! I've not had so much luck in my life that I expect to get away with this. Shoot!"

"These Americanisms—the cinema?" Mrs. Bradley enquired.

"Oh, possibly. I used to live there, nearly, in the evenings. Only thing to do, and the best way, anyhow, to get away from the atmosphere of that poisonous Institution for a bit."

"Ah, yes. You weren't happy there."

"When I say I'd sooner be here," said Bella vigorously, "I'm not saying one-half. Does that convince you?"

"I don't need convincing. The diary would have convinced me."

"The diary? But I didn't put anything in the diary about the Institution, did I? I used to be pretty careful about that."

"Really? You surprise me," said Mrs. Bradley, grinning like a fiend.