The Riddle of Sphinx Island Read online

  ‘Of course it does … I don’t believe this. Someone is playing silly games with us. N. Nygmer indeed … Enigma …’

  ‘That’s how the evil Riddler is also known.’ Payne helped himself to another piece of toast. ‘N. Nygma with an A.’

  ‘The evil riddler? Who’s he – she?’

  ‘N. Nygma is Batman’s enemy. It’s a he. One of Batman’s enemies according to DC Comics.’ Payne raised his cup and took a sip of coffee.

  ‘I wasn’t aware that you were such an aficionado of DC comics.’

  ‘I am not. I happen to know all sorts of curious, fascinating and occasionally pointless facts. The only genuine Liebfraumilch is really Liebfrauenmilch. Facts like that. I also know exactly what Werrity did and why he did it.’

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘Only because I told you. What’s the mark of true sophistication?’

  ‘Unflappability? Never to demonstrate erudition unless in response to earnest and persistent questioning?’

  ‘What’s the character limit on Twitter?’

  ‘You know I hate Twitter. 1666?’

  ‘One hundred and forty. 1666 is the year in which the Great Fire of London took place. Has the Queen got a passport?’

  ‘She has. No, she hasn’t.’

  ‘She hasn’t. Sovereigns have no need for passports. They are identified by their face on the postage stamps … Which fictional policeman genially offers to fit a second pair of handcuffs on to an arrested man’s wrists in case the first pair feels uncomfortable?’

  ‘Victorian?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sergeant Cuff?’

  ‘No. Inspector Buckett.’

  Antonia looked down at the letter. She took a thoughtful sip of coffee. ‘Murder mysteries … He doesn’t say “mysterious crimes” … Murder … He is quite specific … He’s promising us a murder …’

  ‘The Riddler’s crimes are flamboyant and ostentatious. He specialises in death traps. He likes to devise life-and-death intellectual challenges. The Riddler has a fatal weakness for elaborate gimmicks. He is invariably depicted wearing his trademark green bowler with a black or purple question mark. Like all of Batman’s enemies, the Riddler is a highly warped character. He is described as a “victim of an intense obsessive compulsion”.’

  Antonia said that perhaps they were dealing with someone who was dangerously stuck in their childhood. ‘Or with someone who wants us to think they are dangerously stuck in their childhood … Hugh, what if one of us is the intended victim and it is left to the other to investigate the murder?’

  Payne raised his hand in a fist and said he would kill N. Nygmer if he so much as laid a finger on Antonia. ‘I’ll give him a crack on the nut which will leave him brain-dead. I’ll smash his nygmatic nose. And I’ll expect you to do the same should it happen the other way round.’

  ‘He clearly knows Sybil has been to see us – but how could he? Sybil insisted no one knew about her suspicions. Apart from your aunt, that is.’

  Payne stroked his jawline with his forefinger. ‘Could N. Nygmer be Aunt Nellie? Or more precisely, is Aunt Nellie “N. Nygmer”? Would an octogenarian baroness play mind games with her favourite nephew and niece-by-marriage with whom she’s never had a cross word?’ He dabbed at his lips with the linen napkin and poured himself another cup of coffee. ‘My answer is, no, she wouldn’t.’

  ‘What if this is some variation on the Murder Weekend theme after all? They may be doing it exclusively in our honour, in celebration of our lasting union. This may be your aunt’s present to us, Hugh. Your aunt did ask you what we wanted for our anniversary, didn’t she? Last month – when you took her for drinks at Harry’s Bar?’

  ‘She did ask me, yes. Dear Aunt Nellie. She said she had little patience with the tin or aluminium nonsense, which, apparently, is what people send on tenth wedding anniversaries, but how about eighteenth-century silver or Icelandic crystal or one of her precious medieval tapestries? I said – now what did I say?’ Payne tapped his forehead with his forefinger. ‘No, I can’t remember.’

  ‘I am sure you can. What did you say, Hugh?’

  ‘I said – um – we’ve got enough silver, darling, we keep breaking things, so crystal would be wasted on us, and nothing in our house really goes with medieval tapestries. But she insisted she must give us something. It wouldn’t do for her not to give us a tenth wedding anniversary present. So I said, if I remember correctly, that dear Antonia and I have been at something of a loose end lately, in fact, we are bored out of our wits, so what we’d like best, darling, is a mysterious murder.’

  ‘You actually said that?’

  ‘OK, I didn’t say “dear Antonia”.’

  ‘But you did say we’d like a murder?’

  ‘It was all light-hearted badinage.’ Payne reached out for his pipe. ‘If you want my honest opinion, I don’t believe Aunt Nellie’s behind it. She is too old to be bothered. A Murder Weekend is an elaborate thing, the devil to organise and get going, and it involves one too many people and “staying in character” and so on … And would Sybil de Coverley have placed her island at Aunt Nellie’s disposal?’

  ‘She might have done.’

  He couldn’t imagine his aunt staging amateur theatricals on an island in the middle of the sea. Not at her age. Out of the question.

  ‘Perhaps someone else is doing the staging?’ Antonia insisted. ‘They may have employed the services of a professional?’

  ‘Too far-fetched,’ Payne said.

  ‘Somebody whose metier is Murder Weekends, perhaps?’

  ‘Too far-fetched.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s all Sybil’s doing. She may be planning to commit a murder with the sole object of having her brother blamed for it?’

  Payne nodded. ‘She certainly managed to create the impression that brother John is of a hopelessly loony cast of mind if not dangerously unhinged … The kind of chap who would get obsessed with Batman comics … Yes, that’s perfectly possible.’

  ‘She went out of her way to poison our minds against him … I’m sure I’ve seen a letter like this somewhere,’ Antonia said suddenly. ‘In a book. An Agatha Christie or somewhere.’

  ‘It occurs to me, my love, that we may have been presented with a rag-bag of disparate ideas from various detective stories,’ Payne said. ‘The gentlewoman who knows too much but is reluctant to let on … Ten people on an island … A letter whose signature reads “enigma” and whose purpose is to taunt and provoke the detective … I wouldn’t be at all surprised if, on arriving at Sphinx Island, we were greeted with a body in the library. What a bore that would be.’

  ‘Clichés … Yes … All clichés … You are absolutely right …’ Something was stirring at the back of Antonia’s mind – what was that name Sybil de Coverley had mentioned and then looked as though she wished she hadn’t?

  ‘Hate clichés … But perhaps these are deliberate clichés?’

  ‘Not necessarily. We may be dealing with someone who is incapable of original thought.’

  ‘A general lack of definition is at the moment the keynote to the Sphinx Island affair … Why do you keep looking at the clock?’

  ‘I need to go and buy some millinery … Care to come? Or will you think it a bore?’

  ‘No, not at all. Splendid idea. As you know,’ said Payne, ‘I am awfully good at hats.’

  8

  A MIND TO MURDER

  It was at the hat shop, one of her regular haunts in Beauchamp Place, that Antonia remembered. ‘I believe Sybil referred to a woman called Garrison-Gore. Mrs Garrison-Gore. Earlier on, when you talked about clichés something seemed to click. I can’t swear to it, but I believe I’ve heard someone mention a Romany Garrison-Gore. Unless I dreamt it. No, I didn’t. It was my copy editor who mentioned her.’

  ‘Your copy editor? Are you sure?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Are you telling me Mrs Garrison-Gore is one of you? I mean one of the crime-writing sorority. Romany Garrison-Gore. I am most certai
nly not familiar with the name. It doesn’t ring the faintest bell.’ Payne shook his head. ‘Perhaps she is one of those obscure ones that are strictly for library distribution? It’s ages since I’ve been to the library.’

  Antonia was in the process of adjusting a French straw confection on her head. ‘She is “one of us”, yes … Unless it’s a different Mrs Garrison-Gore altogether. Her sister or her cousin.’

  ‘No, not her sister – they can’t both be “Mrs Garrison-Gore” – unless both women married men called Garrison-Gore … And no two sisters can ever be called “Romany” … Didn’t they make you study Titles and Forms of Address at your finishing school?’

  ‘I thought Sybil looked furtive when she mentioned Mrs Garrsion-Gore’s name.’ Antonia’s eyes narrowed. ‘As though she regretted letting it slip out. Perhaps I imagined it.’

  Payne said that a detective story writer who was already on Sphinx Island was a damned suspicious thing. ‘Yes, it all makes perfect sense now … Sybil was perturbed that you – a detective-story writer yourself – might recognise Mrs Garrison-Gore’s name and draw certain conclusions from it. The obvious conclusion of course is that they are putting on some murder show in our honour and that they have hired the services of a professional to stage-manage it.’

  ‘You thought the idea far-fetched.’

  ‘No, not far-fetched at all. Of course Mrs Garrison-Gore’s presence on Sphinx Island may prove to be purely fortuitous – she may be John de Coverley’s latest mistress – or Sybil’s oldest and dearest school chum. Or she may turn out to be a loony ufologist who’s writing a thesis on the alien invasion of Sphinx Island in the fifties. That’s possible, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sybil wouldn’t refer to her as “Mrs Garrison-Gore” if they’d been at school together,’ Antonia pointed out.

  ‘That may be some kind of a private joke between them. A chap I was at school with was called Puckler-Muskau, but he became generally known as “Pickled Mustard”. He was an Austrian Prince who could trace his lineage back to the days of the Holy Roman Empire. But we are digressing.’

  ‘It’s you who’s digressing … Actually, Sybil said Mrs Garrison-Gore was a “friend of a friend”, but that was clearly a fib concocted on the spur of the moment. I think she was trying desperately to distance herself from her.’

  ‘What did your copy-editor say about Mrs Garrison-Gore exactly?’

  ‘It was only a passing remark. I don’t think it was particularly nice.’ Antonia scrunched up her face. ‘Something about Romany Garrison-Gore being the ultimate nightmare to edit.’

  ‘Decidedly not nice … It was that one word, “clichés”, that reminded you of her, wasn’t it? That’s when things clicked?’

  ‘Yes … How do I look?’

  ‘You look marvellous … A little to the left … That’s it … Perfect … Clichés … The lady novelist with a penchant for lethal clichés … Could we assume that Romany’s romans policiers are little more than hackneyed rag-bags of disparate ideas pinched from other people’s books?’

  ‘For some reason I have the impression she writes under an assumed name.’

  ‘‘‘Garrison-Gore” sounds like an assumed name to me. Somehow one expects the pen of a murder mystery writer to be dipped in gore. Which ties up with the letter. I said that looked like blood, didn’t I? One must never underestimate the power of subliminal suggestion … Names are funny things … I believe President Reagan had a spokesman called “Speakes”, didn’t he?’

  ‘Shall I buy this hat then?’ Once more Antonia was looking at her reflection in the mirror.

  ‘I think you should. It has the wow factor.’ Payne put his head to one side. ‘Yes. You will be the queen of Sphinx Island. Facile princeps and ne plus ultra … Oswald Ramskritt and Doctor Klein will be impelled to fight a duel over you whereas John de Coverley will throw himself at your feet and beg to kiss the hem of your gown.’

  ‘I don’t intend to wear the hat on Sphinx Island.’

  ‘I think you should. It would be a mistake not to.’

  ‘Perhaps you should wear it,’ said Antonia. ‘It may deter you from saying one too many silly things?’

  ‘I think you should pump your copy-editor for more details regarding la Romany,’ Payne said. ‘Or would she consider bitching about the authors she is paid to serve unprofessional?’

  ‘I like the hat very much. I am going to buy it,’ Antonia turned to the shop assistant. ‘I am so terribly sorry. We’ve been keeping you waiting. We’ve been exceedingly thoughtless. You’ve been extremely patient.’

  ‘No, not at all, madam.’ The shop assistant gave a little bow and said that it had been a pleasure.

  Antonia watched him place the hat in a luxurious box made of jade-green silk. ‘Hugh, would you –?’

  ‘Yes, of course, my love.’ Payne produced his wallet.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ The shop assistant bowed again and asked whether there would be anything else he could do for them.

  ‘I hope you won’t think my question awfully peculiar,’ said Payne, ‘but are you at all familiar with what goes on at Murder Weekends?’

  ‘I attended a Murder Weekend once,’ said the shop assistant. ‘It took place at a very pleasant moat hotel in Surrey. It was my wife’s idea. We enjoyed the food and the view but not the actual detection.’

  Antonia looked at him. ‘Oh? Why not?’

  ‘Some of our fellow participants indulged in noisy and frequently ill-natured disagreements. As a matter of fact, two ladies nearly came to blows over a bronze statuette representing a ruminative monkey. One lady insisted the monkey was a red herring, while the other argued that it was a clue.’

  ‘Which one was it?’

  ‘Neither. As it turned out, the bronze monkey played no part in the Murder Game. It was merely part of the hotel décor. It had been given to the manager as a present by a Nepalese tourist, as we subsequently discovered. The odd thing was that we’d convinced ourselves the two ladies were actresses and that the fracas was part of the script, which of course they were obliged to follow.’ The shop assistant shook his head. ‘People are so competitive.’

  ‘I don’t think we’ll have any competition where we are going,’ Payne said. ‘We believe we’ll be the only people who will have to guess whodunnit. You see, we strongly suspect the whole thing’s being staged for us and us alone as it is our tenth wedding anniversary.’

  ‘Your tenth wedding anniversary? May I offer you my warmest congratulations, sir – madam?’ The shop assistant bowed for the third time.

  ‘We may be wrong of course. It may prove to be – um – something completely different altogether.’

  ‘You aren’t by any chance contemplating the possibility of a real murder, sir? That ploy has been used in several books already, I believe. A Murder Game ending in real murder. Not a particularly original idea – if I may venture an opinion.’

  ‘Don’t you sometimes wish that we possessed the kind of temperament that has been described as “sublimely uninquisitive”?’ Antonia said as they left the shop and stood looking for a taxi.

  ‘No, never.’

  ‘We’d have been so much happier.’

  ‘I rather doubt it.’

  ‘Oh don’t let’s go, Hugh! Please. It’s bound to be an awful bore.’ She clutched at his arm. ‘Some silly Murder Game, which, for your aunt’s sake, we’ll have to pretend to enjoy!’

  ‘My aunt would be terribly disappointed if we didn’t go … Oh there’s a taxi.’ Payne held up his rolled umbrella. ‘Eight people on Sphinx Island,’ he went on after they got in. ‘There will be ten, when we go.’

  ‘If we go,’ said Antonia.

  ‘Ten people on an island, one of whom is quite cranky and has murder on the mind.’

  ‘I very much hope it won’t be that scenario.’

  ‘The cast of dramatis personae promises to be an interesting bunch … Who do we imagine will kill whom and why?’ Payne asked.

  ‘I don’t know and I don’
t care, though for some reason I see Mrs Garrison-Gore as the victim … While working out the details of the Murder Game, she does research and discovers something discreditable about one of her fellow guests.’

  ‘Ah. The Mystery of the Murdered Muckraker. Excellent … Which fellow guest?’

  ‘It’s got to be the rich American as he is the one character who is immediately associated with high stakes. Oswald Ramskritt has a skeleton in his cupboard … Behind every great fortune there is a crime …’

  ‘Who said that? Donald Trump? The Duke of Kent?’

  ‘Balzac, actually.’

  ‘Let’s decide on the crime … Bone in mixed byre that goes with corruption.’

  ‘You sound like the Riddler now.’

  ‘Perhaps I am the Riddler,’ said Payne. ‘Perhaps this is all my doing.’

  ‘How many letters?’ Antonia asked.

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘Seven? Rib, I believe, is anagram of “byre”, sort of. Am I on the right track?’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘Oh it’s easy. Bribery – bribery and corruption?’

  ‘Bribery and corruption it is. Ramskritt was once in jail. He has bribed some person in a high place in return for having his criminal record destroyed. Or records. He may have more than one. An extremely likely contingency since he is an American. He may have been involved in organised crime. Ramskritt’s reason for killing Mrs Garrison-Gore will be to prevent her from blurting out his guilty secret.’

  9

  PSYCHO

  That evening, after they had packed their bags and were sitting down to a light supper of roast duck, peas and new potatoes, Payne said, ‘What if this whole thing is not a product of Mrs Garrison-Gore’s diabolically illogical imagination? What if Sybil’s story of a would-be murderer on her island is bona fide after all? What if N. Nygmer does exist?’

  ‘Then we’ll need to proceed with the utmost caution and infinite circumspection,’ Antonia said. ‘And I will take that hat with me, if you insist.’

  ‘Sybil assured us no one else knew about her suspicions, yet the very next day we receive us a letter signed “N. Nygmer”, confirming that there is going to be a murder on Sphinx Island. N. Nygmer says he is expecting us.’ Payne paused. ‘How did N. Nygmer know we were going to arrive at the island on 17th April, Friday?’