“Thank you, Inspector, for bringing everyone in here. I know I’m not a detective, but I think that what I have to say is most important.” Frieda stood by the bookshelves in the study. Facing her stood the inspector and a few of his policemen, Marcus, Michael, the housekeeper, Mrs. Hart, and Diana, who was sitting in an armchair, her face drawn tight with stress from the events of the night. Frieda knew what she had to do, even though the knowledge was crushing and terrible. She took a long, deep breath and steadied herself to begin.

            “While I was in Diana’s room to get her a sweater, I found this piece of a letter. It’s a blackmail letter addressed to Marcus which suggests that he has a child somewhere, whose mother was blackmailing him in exchange for her not revealing him as the father, something which would be sure to cause an uproar, and perhaps make his engagement to Diana rather problematic. And this, it seems, is the basis of the murder here tonight. Sybil Ashbury had been in love with Marcus for years. He took advantage of this, and Sybil, but she got pregnant and had his child, so he likely bribed her to ship off the baby to the country and say nothing about the identity of the father, after which he moved on to Diana, whom he really wanted to marry. I think that despite all this, Sybil was still in love with him so she used blackmail to bind Marcus to her in a way that he could not help if he wanted to keep the secret. Marcus paid her off each time, presumably, but something about this last blackmail letter must have been different. I think that this time, Sybil wasn’t asking for money. This time, she wanted Marcus. She demanded that Marcus resume his affair with her or she would tell everyone about the child. But this time, she went a little too far. Marcus was far too devoted to Diana to break off the engagement or sneak around with Sybil, but somehow she needed to be silenced. So a plot was hatched for the murder masquerade. Before the party, Marcus slipped the note to Sybil asking her to meet him in the study, telling her also that Diana didn’t know about them yet.”

            “So it was the fellow who killed her then!” exclaimed one of the policemen. The other strode forward to grab Marcus, who protested strongly.

            “Now look here, I didn’t kill anybody, this is nonsense!”

            “Actually,” interjected Frieda, “he’s right. Marcus didn’t kill anybody.” A silence followed this, as all eyes turned to Frieda. Diana looked up sharply, while Marcus wrenched his arm from the officer’s surprised hand. With a captive audience, Frieda continued. “A few minutes ago, Michael and I decided to have another look here in the study, just in case we could find something which might help the case. This is what we discovered.”

As she pulled the three books from the shelf to reveal the glasses, she saw the inspector move forward with great interest, while Marcus made an involuntary twitching movement, and Diana’s eyes widened in shock. “I think you’ll find that the leftover punch in one of these glasses contains strychnine. The murderer must have quickly stowed the glasses here in the bookshelves and planned to return to collect them later. What I noticed when I found them was that there was a distinct, flowery smell about them that was not the punch, and could not be the strychnine. But when I found the strychnia solution, I noticed that same smell coming from a bottle holding a supposedly odourless liquid. Then, one of the policeman said something which jogged my memory, and I realized just what that smell was. That was when I knew, as terrible as it was, who killed Sybil. I think, if you examine those glasses, that you will find two sets of fingerprints. On one will be Sybil’s, but on both will be Diana’s.” A hard little laugh escaped from the armchair.

            “Why, that’s preposterous. Frieda, you little twit, how could you make up such a story? You know the game is over right? I’m so sorry Inspector, I’m afraid Frieda has always rather fancied herself an amateur sleuth, but now she’s just wasting your time when there is still a murderer out there who tried to kill me!”

            “No, Diana, I’m afraid that I’m terribly right. It hurts me so to say it, but nevertheless, you killed Sybil. Nobody ever wanted to kill you. You made up those stories about all the accidents you had in order to confuse the investigation. And what’s more, Sybil never asked you to switch masks. You did that yourself, once she was dead, so that you could make it seem as if someone had been trying to murder you instead. But why would anyone want to murder you? No, I’m afraid that although the role suits you to a tee, it was Sybil who was to play the victim tonight. You knew all about her blackmail, Marcus had come to you and shown you the letters. Together, you came up with a plan to get rid of her and cease her intrusion into your lives forever.

 You planned this murder masquerade, Diana, because it would make a delightful cover. You played dead as a joke because you wanted to make it seem like the murderer had been inspired and seized his opportunity to kill you. You had Marcus write the note to give to Sybil, asking her to come to the study right before the unmasking. Then, just before that time, Marcus came and told you that the housekeeper had an urgent call from your parents, giving you the perfect alibi to slip away. But I don’t think there was such a call. Did you send Marcus to get Diana, Mrs. Hart?” She directed this at the housekeeper, who looked surprised.

            “No dear, I never had such a call.”

            “As I thought. Well, Marcus never planned to meet Sybil in the study. When she arrived, having told her friends that she had to run after you, Diana, to ask you something, she was surprised to find you waiting for her, instead. She was probably shocked, and wanted to leave, but you told her that although you knew about her and Marcus, you forgave her and that it was his fault, didn’t you? Then you offered her a drink, to let bygones be bygones. I’m surprised she drank it, really, since the amount of strychnine you put in that drink should have tasted horrendous, but she must have been eager to please you, so she gulped it down without thinking. After she died, you switched masks and shawls with her, stowed the glasses away and ran upstairs to replace the strychnia bottle. You knew I would come looking for you because you had been so emphatic about your wish to see the unmasking, so naturally I would try to find you so you could be there.

You wanted the body to be discovered before you returned, so that it would truly seem like someone had tried to take the opportunity to kill you while you went for the telephone but had killed Sybil, who would have been presumably heading back to the party after switching outfits with you, instead. When the body was discovered, you appeared and pretended to be horrified, and so you created the stories of those accidents in order to cement the idea that the intended victim had been you. That should’ve put you well out of suspicion, shouldn’t it? I only started investigating a little to try and protect you, after all. But when that policeman walked by and talked of washing his hands of the whole affair, it suddenly occurred to me where I had smelled that flowery scent before. It was your favourite hand lotion, Diana, which you go to great pains to make sure is exclusive and custom made for you. It couldn’t be anything else. I remembered that you said you had never touched that strychnia solution of your mother’s. So how could it smell like you, unless you had been the one to hold it that evening and pour the solution into Sybil’s drink? Then I recalled how to talked to me about creative murders the other day, and you said that if you were to murder someone, it would be much more subtle than a mere bop on the head, or shooting, or a clumsy strangulation. You did it Diana. You murdered your cousin to keep her quiet and protect both Marcus’s and your reputations.” At this, a shriek arose from the armchair and Diana leapt up.

            “You little monster! How could you! You were always my best friend, how could you not understand that she was going to destroy us! That little minx would have had me cast off and run away with Marcus, or she would have exposed him, because she could never be satisfied with just his money alone! I did what I had to do to defend us!” At a nod from the inspector, one policeman stepped forward to grab Diana’s arm, who thrashed wildly, while the others attended to Marcus. The inspector turned to Frieda.

            “Well, thank you very much miss. I can’t say I’m happy that you withheld this evidence from us, but you’ve done a fine job of uncovering the truth. You know, we have many more cases like these...” he trailed off, and with a friendly wink, turned back to speak to the officers, who were escorting the couple from the room. Diana turned back as they took her through the door and sent a venomous look at Frieda. Michael sighed, and put his arm around her.

            “Well darling, it’s been quite a rough night. First a murder and now you’ve lost your best friend. I still can’t believe she did it, you know. She was always so full of life and fun, and yet, she could do something like this!”

“I suppose you never know what anyone is capable of deep down in the shadows of themselves, away from the light,” said Frieda thoughtfully. “Poor Sybil. She put herself in danger by being a blackmailer, but nobody deserves that. I feel rather sick, and a little like someone has slapped me square across the face.”

“I suppose they’ll let us go home now, since the nightmare is over?” And with that, Michael steered them out of the study, and they prepared to head home with the rest of the guests of a murder masquerade which was doomed from the beginning.