by Ngaio Marsh
Jonathan was standing there. Hersey went straight to him and he took her by the hands. “Well, dear,” said Jonathan, “it — it’s time, I think.”
Fox had gone to the front door and opened it. The sound of rain filled the hall. A large man in plain clothes came in, followed by two policemen. Alleyn met him and the large man shook hands. Jonathan came forward.
“Well, Blandish,” he said.
“Very sorry about this, sir,” said Superintendent Blandish. Jonathan made a small waving of his hands and turned back to Hersey.
“All ready for us, Mr. Alleyn?”
“I think so,” Alleyn said, and they went into the green sitting-room, shutting the door behind them.
“Hersey, my dearest,” said Jonathan, “don’t stay out here, now.”
“Would you rather I went away, Jo?”
“I — it’s for your sake.”
“Then I’ll stay.”
So Hersey saw Nicholas come out between Bailey and Fox, the senior officers keeping close behind him. He walked stiffly with short steps, looking out of the corners of his eyes. His unshaven cheeks were creased with a sort of grin and his mouth was not quite shut. His blond hair hung across his forehead in disheveled streaks. Without turning his head, he looked at his host. Jonathan moved towards him and at once the two men halted.
“I want to tell you,” Jonathan said, “that if you wish me to see your solicitors or do anything else that I am able to do, you have only to send instructions.”
“There now,” said Fox, comfortingly, “that’ll be very nice, won’t it?”
Nicholas said, in an unrecognizable voice: “Stop them hanging me,” and suddenly sagged at the knees.
“Come along, now,” said Fox. “You don’t want to be talking like that.”
As they went out, Jonathan and Hersey saw the ambulance van outside by the police car, and men with stretchers waiting to come in.
“He’d made up his mind to do it somehow, Jo,” said Hersey that afternoon. “You mustn’t blame yourself too much.”
“I do blame myself dreadfully,” said Jonathan. He had taken off his glasses and his myopic eyes, blurred with tears, looked childlike and helpless. “It’s just as you said, Hersey. I had to learn my lesson. You see — I thought I’d have a dramatic party.”
“Oh, Jo,” cried Hersey, with a sob that was almost a laugh. “Don’t.”
“I did. That was my plan. I thought Aubrey might make a poetic drama out of it. I’m a mischievous, selfish fellow, trying to amuse myself and never thinking — just as you said, my dear.”
“I talk too much. I was cross. You couldn’t know what was behind it all.”
“No. I think perhaps I do these things because I’m a bit lonely.”
Hersey reached out her hand and he took it uncertainly between both of his. For a long time they sat in silence, looking at the fire.
“What you’ve got to do,” said Mandrake, “is to think about other things. Get a new interest. Me, for instance.”
“But it isn’t over. If it was over, it wouldn’t be so awful. I’ve been so mixed up with the Complines,” said Chloris. “I wanted to be free of them, and now — all this has happened. It sounds silly, but I feel sort of lonely.”
Mandrake removed his left hand from the driving-wheel.
The End
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