Stephen, whose eyes had been fixed on her face throughout, said harshly: "Never mind that! Go on, Mathilda! What happened next?"
She said in a shaken tone: "He went upstairs. Rather slowly. He held on to the banister-rail all the way. I thought he was putting over one of his crippled acts. I heard him slam his door when he got upstairs, and I - I laughed. You see, I thought -"
"That doesn't matter," Stephen interrupted. "What did Joe do? Did he know you were watching?"
She turned her head. "No. Not till I laughed."
"And then? What did he say?"
"I don't remember. Nothing in particular, I think. He gave a little start, but that was quite natural. Oh yes, and he did say that Nat had knocked the steps over on purpose! Then he carried the steps away to the billiardroom. I collected my handbag from this room, and put out my cigarette, and went up to change. Joseph overtook me at the top of the stairs. But - but it isn't possible! It couldn't have happened then!"
Stephen said: "Is it possible, Inspector? Was he stabbed then?"
"You've got no right to ask me that, sir, and you know it. What's more, I'll have to warn you both -"
"- to keep our mouths shut! You needn't trouble!"
"But the knife!" Mathilda said. "I never saw it! What could he have done with that?"
"Easy enough to have concealed it from you!" Stephen said. "Up his sleeve, or even flat against the inside of his arm, with the hilt held downwards in the palm of his hand. You'd never see it!" He turned to the Inspector. "Would it have been possible for my uncle to have walked upstairs after having been stabbed?"
"A doctor could answer that better than I can, sir."
"Nevertheless, that is what you suspect. What put you on to it?"
"When I've proved it to my satisfaction, sir, maybe I'll tell you. Until then, I'm asking you and Miss Clare to behave as though we hadn't had this highly illuminating interview."
"You needn't worry!" Stephen said, his eyes glittering. "Not for worlds would I do anything to impede the course of justice! Not - for - worlds!"
"I think," said Mathilda, rather shakily, "that I'll retire to my room with a headache. I don't feel like meeting Joseph, and I certainly couldn't act a part. I feel slightly sick."
"That's right, miss, you go upstairs," said Hemingway. "It's the best thing you could do."
She moved to the door. Stephen opened it for her, and as she stepped into the hall, she gave an uncontrollable start, for Joseph was there.
"Ah, there you are, Tilda!" Joseph said. "I was just coming to look for you! Tea-time, my dear! Hallo, Stephen, old boy! Now, what mischief have you two been hatching, I should like to know?"
"Mathilda's got a bit of a head; she's going to lie down," Stephen said, closing the door behind him. "Did you say tea was ready?"
"Oh, poor Tilda!" Joseph exclaimed, concerned. "Can I get you anything for it, my dear? Would you like an aspirin? I'm sure Maud has some."
"I shall be all right if I lie down," Mathilda replied. "It's nothing much: I often get these heads."
"Come on, Joe, leave her alone!" said Stephen, opening the door into the drawing-room. "Tea!"
"With you in one moment, old man!" Joseph said. "I'm just going to wash my hands."
Mathilda had gone upstairs. Stephen heard her cross the hall above, and go into her room. He watched Joseph follow trippingly in her wake, smiled grimly, and went into the drawing-room.
The Inspector, emerging from the library, found the coast clear, and went at once to the first half-landing. Dropping on his knees there, he closely scrutinised the stair-carpet. It was a thick, grey pile, and here and there a few small stains were visible on it. The Inspector discovered two brown spots on the half-landing, and, having looked at them through his magnifying-glass, produced a safety-razor blade from a small case in his pocket, and carefully cut these away from the carpet. He placed the severed tufts of pile in a container, and rose from his knees. "I'm going back to the station," he said briefly. "You stay here and keep your eye on our clever customer. It's just on the cards he may have been listening outside the library door. Tail him!"
The Sergeant, who had been thinking deeply, said: "Chief, if it's true - why did he stab him in the back? That wasn't how that chap killed the Empress, according to what you read out!"
"Because, for one thing, any sharp pain in the back Nathaniel would think was his lumbago. For another, I'd say kind Uncle Joseph put in a bit of anatomical research, and chose the best place for his purpose."
"But what a risk!" said the Sergeant. "Suppose it hadn't come off? Suppose the old man had dropped down there?"
"He wasn't likely to do that. If he'd turned faint at once, no doubt Joseph would have helped him up to his room, and left him there. Don't forget he thought he'd got rid of the rest of the house-party! He had to take a risk. Keep your eye on him!"
He left the house, and a minute later the Sci-gcitw heard the police-car outside start up and drive away.
It was nearly three hours later when Inspector Hemingway again entered Lexham Manor. He was admitted by Sturry, who said, in a portentous voice, that he was glad to see him,
"Well, that's something new," said Hemingway. "Quite brightens up my day. Ask Mr. Stephen if he can spare me a moment, will you?"
"I will inform Mr. Stephen that you are here, Inspector," said Sturry. "In the meantime, a very Peculiar Thing has occurred, of which I feel you should be instantly apprised."
"You can't apprise me of anything I don't already know, so don't try!" said Hemingway briskly. "Get hold of Mr. Stephen for me!"
Swelling with affronted majesty, Sturry walked away.
In a very few minutes Stephen came into the hall. "Thank the lord you're back!" he said. Joseph's disappeared. We've no idea where he is. Hasn't been seen since he went up to wash his hands before tea."
"Well, you don't need to worry about him, sir, because I know where he is, which is all that matters."
"Where?" Stephen demanded.
"Locked up," replied Hemingway. "That's what I came to tell you."
"Good God!" said Stephen. "I hand it to you, Inspector: I thought you had let him slip through your fingers. He must have heard what we were saying in the library, and made a bolt for it. Where did you pick him up?"
"Oh, I didn't pick him up!" Hemingway answered. "Sergeant Ware arrested him at Frickley junction nearly a couple of hours ago. Somehow I thought he might have been doing a bit of eavesdropping, so I left Ware to keep an eye on him. And a very instructive time he had, doing it. Your Uncle Joseph, sir, left the house by the garden door, all unobtrusive-like, and carrying a suitcase, not twenty minutes after I'd gone myself. I won't bother you with all the details, but I'll tell you this: when he came out of one of the potting-sheds, which was where he made for first, poor Ware thought he was seeing things, or else it was a lot darker than what he'd thought it was. Talk of talented performances! Why, by the time your Uncle Joseph had dolled himself up in a nice brown wig, and moustache, and had darkened his eyebrows, Ware tells me you wouldn't have believed it could be the same man."
"Old theatrical props!" said Stephen.
"I wouldn't wonder. Luckily, Ware's sure, even if he isn't quick, and as soon as he found that there weren't any snakes or pink rats about, he kept right on after your uncle. The first chance he had to telephone through to me was at Frickley junction, where they'd got to by a slow train. Not properly heated either, judging by Ware's remarks. By that time, I'd had a highly instructive chat with the police-surgeon, not to mention another highly instructive chat with a pathologist, who'd been putting some scraps of that stair-carpet of yours through a few tests. And what that chap had to say about being dragged out on Boxing Day is nobody's business!"
"Blood?" Stephen asked.
"That's right, sir. Same group as Mr. Herriard's, found by me where the blow was struck. Probably a couple of drops from the knife, since Mr. Herriard hardly bled at all externally. That being that, and various items adding up to the req
uired total, I told Ware to arrest your Uncle Joseph on a charge of murdering his brother, and to bring him along, instead of catching another slow train up to London, which was what he'd been afraid he'd have to do. And now, if you don't mind, sir, I've got to see Mrs. Herriard, and break the news to her."
"Just a minute!" said Stephen. "How the devil did you get on to it?"
"You read the Life of the Empress Elizabeth of Austria instead of grumbling at other people for doing so, and maybe you'll find out," said Hemingway. "Your Uncle Joseph read it - all of it, which is more than he allowed his wife to do. Where is she, sir?"
"In the drawing-room. Miss Clare's with her. Was the Empress murdered, then?"
"I'm not going to spoil the story for you," said the Inspector firmly. "Besides, I haven't time. You'll find it all in the encyclopedia."
"Damn you!" Stephen said, and took him to the drawing-room.
When she saw the Inspector, Maud looked steadily at him, her hands folded in her lap, her face quite expressionless. Mathilda moved instinctively to her side, but when the Inspector told her briefly, but as gently as he could, that her husband was under arrest, she showed no sign of agitation. For a moment she did not speak. Then she said: "I did not see how Joseph could have done it."
Taken aback, Mathilda exclaimed: "You thought he might have?"
"Oh yes!" Maud replied matter-of-factly. "You see, I have lived with Joseph for nearly thirty years. You none of you understood him."
Mathilda looked at her in blank astonishment. "Didn't you - didn't you like him?" she asked.
"I liked him when I married him, naturally," Maud answered. "I have disliked him very much for many years now, however."
"Yet you went on living with him!"
Maud rose, rearranging the scarf she wore round her shoulders. A small, tight smile just widened her little mouth. "I was brought up to believe that one married for better or for worse," she said. "I daresay you thought that because I used to be an actress I didn't care about such things. But I have always believed in doing one's duty. Joseph was not unfaithful to me, you see." She walked across the room to the door. "I shall not come duwn to dinner," she stated. "It would make you all feel uncomfortable, if I did. Is there anything more you wish to say to me, Inspector?"
"No, madam, nothing more," Hemingway said, as astonished as Mathilda.
"Would you like me to come up with you?" asked Mathilda.
"No, thank you, dear. Just tell them to send dinner to my room, please, and don't worry about me. I shall be quiet happy, making plans for the little house I've always wanted to live in." She paused, and glanced up at Stephen, who was holding the door open for her. She smiled again. "By myself!" she said simply, and walked out of the room.
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