Free Appleby Talking by Michael Innes Page B

deal of any conversation going on beneath her. And this distressed Miss Geach very much. I got the impression that, even during the day, she was in her bedroom quite a lot.”
    “And Miss Geach came along to you about this?”
    “She came along because – if she was at all to be credited – she had overheard a violent quarrel, followed by what she was convinced had been murder. As you know, mild-mannered elderly ladies are constantly enjoying hallucinations of that sort, and it seemed to me that the best thing to do would be to get her straight home again. If there was anything in her story, I could investigate it on the spot. So I drove her back.
    “She gave me more details on the way. Just who lived immediately beneath her she didn’t know. But she had lately come to the conclusion that it must be a bachelor of unstable temperament, since what she heard for the most part was simply the voice of a youngish man talking to himself, or even shouting. At this point I was inclined to feel that poor Miss Geach’s fantasy might become merely embarrassing, and concern a sort of dream lover. But as she went on I began to take another view. I thought there might be something in it.”
    The QC grinned. “My dear fellow, it’s only if there was something in it that I’m prepared to go on listening to you.”
    “Very well. The first thing of which Miss Geach was aware on the relevant occasion was the owner of this attractive young male voice calling somebody a dirty hound. Then he talked with great volubility and passion about his family honour, foul slander, and the reputation of a woman who was inexpressibly dear to him.”
    The QC shook his head. “One can picture – can one not? – the reluctance of your Miss Geach to listen in to such stuff. But proceed.”
    “Presently the temperature appeared to be rising yet higher, and the young man’s voice was saying something about contemptible curs and blackmail. It was at this point that a second voice joined in. Miss Geach described it as a soft sinister foreign voice. And it was demanding some large sum of money. The young man replied angrily that he wouldn’t pay, and added that the whole thing was a filthy racket, and too unspeakably low. The foreign voice replied that it didn’t care a damn how low it was, the money must be paid. The young voice said something about not putting up with vulgar gangster stuff, and the foreign voice said inflexibly, ‘One thousand pounds’. The young voice then rose in real out-and-out rage, and the language, Miss Geach said, was such as she could not repeat, even to an officer of police. But the owner of the foreign voice appeared to bide his time, and when the other had blown off steam came back again with something inaudible but decisive. The young voice suddenly shouted, ‘Very well, I’ll pay – and then you can take yourself out of this and never let me see you again.’ The foreign voice made what sounded like a speech of ironical thanks, and then there was a silence of some minutes duration, before hell broke loose.”
    The QC raised his eyebrows. “Hell broke loose? That was Miss Geach’s expression?”
    “It was. Furniture appeared to be hurtling all over the place, and its crashing or bumping was punctuated by what she described as howls of rage. And it was this that broke the poor lady’s nerve. She bolted downstairs and into the street, intending to find a constable. But there wasn’t one in sight, and she had the odd inspiration of jumping into a taxi and driving to the Yard. When we drew up upon returning to Dreadnaught Mansions I had to take her encouragingly by the arm before she found resolution to enter again.
    “I judged it in her best interest not to start inquiring about a rumpus that might never really have happened, and so I walked straight upstairs with her until we reached the flat beneath her own. Its outer door was closed, and there was a porter standing near by, eyeing it doubtfully. I questioned