“You didn’t mention her words to anyone else? To Mr. Stratton, for instance?”
“No. As you say, I didn’t take them seriously enough. But somebody else mentioned them to me.”
“Sir?”
“Someone else asked me if she had spoken to me about doing away with herself. I gather,” Roger said dryly, “that she had touched on this possibility to other people besides myself.”
“Is that the case? That’s very interesting. Will you be good enough to tell me who asked you that?”
“Certainly. It was Mr. Williamson.”
“ ‘Mr. Williamson asked me at one period whether…’ ”
“Mr. Williamson had already asked me, in Mr. Sheringham’s hearing,” put in Ronald Stratton, “whether my sister-in-law were mad. You remember, Sheringham? Quite early.”
“Yes,” Roger nodded. “I remember quite well, made me wonder at the time.”
“What did it make you wonder, sir?”
“Whether Mrs. Stratton might be a little unbalanced.”
“And am I right in thinking that your subsequent conversation with Mrs. Stratton did lead you to that conclusion?” asked the inspector, with an uneasy glance at David Stratton.
“It did. I think Mrs. Stratton was undoubtedly a little unbalanced. But not, I thought then, to the point of suicide.” Roger did not add that he did not think that now, either.
The inspector turned with awkward sympathy to David Stratton. “That did not coincide with your own opinion, Mr. Stratton?”
“No,” David said shortly. “That’s why I rang you people up. I considered my wife totally irresponsible for her actions.”
“Yes, yes.” The inspector was a little flustered. “I have our man’s report. Very curious that should have happened on the very same evening, when … The coroner’s bound to ask something about that.”
“But it all fits in, inspector, doesn’t it?” Ronald put in smoothly. “I mean, it’s a rather remarkable piece of corroborative evidence about Mrs. Stratton’s state of mind. Why should the coroner ask about it particularly?”
“Well, you see, Mr. Stratton hadn’t ever rung us up like that before; had you, Mr. Stratton?”
“No.”
“There’d never been any occasion to do so,” Ronald amplified.
“It struck you this evening that Mrs. Stratton was behaving—how shall I put it —in a more irresponsible way than usual?” the inspector asked David.
“Yes, I think she was.” David Stratton had spoken all the time in a curiously sharp voice, as if he wanted to get his words out and be done with them.
“After all,” Ronald put in again, “my brother didn’t ring up until Mrs. Stratton had been missing from her home for some time, and not until we’d looked everywhere here first, as I told you. He was naturally alarmed; and I don’t suppose Mrs. Stratton had ever behaved in that way before. Had she, David?”
“Never.”
“So in view of the irresponsibility she had shown during the evening, and which other people had noticed besides ourselves, he thought that you people ought to be warned, just in case; though I don’t think he anticipated anything really serious. Did you, David?”
“Not really. I thought it better to be on the safe side, that’s all.”
“You didn’t anticipate that Mrs. Stratton might do away with herself, sir?”
“No, I said. Not really. My wife had often talked about suicide. She had moods of great depression. But like Mr. Sheringham, I’m afraid I didn’t take it very seriously.”
“I see. What was it that Mrs. Stratton was depressed about?”
“Nothing.”
“Mrs. Stratton suffered from melancholia to some extent,” Ronald supplied, as smoothly as before. “She had nothing to worry about really; her life should have been a very happy one; but you know how that kind of person magnifies trifles, and twists the smallest things into big ones. It was all part of her complaint. It’s no good trying to hide the fact, inspector,” said Ronald, with an air of frankness. “My sister-in-law was really not quite normal. I think the doctors will be able to give you some useful information on that point, if they haven’t done so already.”
“No, sir, we haven’t got on to that yet, but no doubt they will. Now, Mr. Sheringham, let me see, you were telling me …”
Roger resumed his story.
He had been listening with considerable interest to the three-cornered conversation which had just taken place. It was the attitude of David Stratton which had been puzzling him. That of Ronald was plain enough; he had been trying to take as much of the burden off David’s thinner shoulders as he possibly could, even to the risk of getting rapped over the knuckles for answering David’s questions for him.
But why this sharp, almost aggressive manner of David’s when he did speak? And why did he answer sometimes just as if he were repeating a lesson, and a lesson not too intelligently learned at that? He did not seem to Roger to be suffering still from shock. But he did seem to be concealing by this attitude some emotion which he did not care to show; though whether that emotion were joy or sorrow, fear or relief, it was impossible to guess.
II
The laborious interrogatory was resumed.
Roger corroborated the account Ronald Stratton had already given of the scene in the ballroom and Mrs. Stratton’s exit, and provided his own version of the return of David and the subsequent search. Everything was written down by the careful inspector, and though Roger made his story as brief as possible, it seemed as if the thing never would be finished.
“Yes, Mr. Sheringham? And after Mr. Williamson made his communication to you?”
“I called Mr. Stratton, and we ran up on the roof. Mr. Stratton held Mrs. Stratton up,” Roger dictated slowly, “while I made a quick examination which convinced me that she was already dead. I then held her up while Mr. Stratton went to fetch a knife, on my instructions. When he returned, I told him to cut the cord, and I would take full responsibility for the fact that she was cut down.”
“It would, in fact, not be an exaggeration to say that you took charge immediately after you suspected that Mrs. Stratton was dead?”
“Yes, in view of the experience I’ve had in similar circumstances, I felt justified in taking charge.”
“Quite so, Mr. Sheringham; and a very fortunate thing for Mr. Stratton, no doubt, that he had you on the premises. Now did you form any opinion when you examined Mrs. Stratton as to the length of time she had been dead?”
“No, that would be impossible for me; I haven’t the knowledge. All I can say is that I thought she must have been dead some time, an hour at least and probably more, because her hands were quite cold.”
“I understand the doctors thought she must have been dead not less than two hours, when they examined her just now. Would you agree with that?”
“Oh yes; but that’s a matter for them, you know, not me. Mitchell’s arrived, then?” Roger added to Ronald Stratton.
“Yes; he came just after the inspector, and Chalmers brought him in to see the body at once.”
“He agrees with Chalmers’s estimate of the length of time she had been dead?”
“Yes.”
Roger nodded to the inspector to go on with his questions.
It was all very informal and pleasingly unofficial, but it was all very tedious, too.
III
Twenty minutes later, after the inspector had dealt with and dwelt on every conceivably relevant point and a great many irrelevant ones, Roger was allowed to escape and send Williamson in his place. The inspector was a thorough man and obviously intended to earn his superintendent’s praise for taking pains; but it was clear that no thought of anything but suicide had ever seriously entered his mind. Not a question had Roger been asked, among all the welter of questions, which might have caused him to depart from the strict truth concerning any such matters as chairs or fingerprints.
And yet Colin Nicolson was convinced that he, Roger Sheringham of all peopl
e, had murdered Ena Stratton.
Colin was being quite nice about it; but that he was so convinced, Roger was sure. And Roger was worried. The crime of evidence-faking had come home to roost on him with a vengeance. He cursed the self-satisfied, smug impulse which had prompted him to alter the position of that chair. That, and the fact that he was known to have been up on the roof during the crucial period, gave Colin an unpleasantly strong case against him. Not that Roger was afraid that Colin would inform on him; he was quite sure that nothing of that kind would enter Colin’s head. But nevertheless to be suspected so strongly of a murder which one has not committed does give one a nasty, haunted feeling. In justice to himself now, as well as in mere acceptance of a challenge, it was up to Roger to discover the real murderer.
And Colin should jolly well help him!
He went upstairs in search of Colin.
Roger had always respected Colin, in rather a tolerant way. Now he found himself respecting Colin in great sincerity. One does respect a person who could land one quite easily in a singularly unpleasant prison-cell.
IV
He found Williamson and sent him downstairs, now unassailably sober, to be interrogated.
In the bar-room Colin was alone, dozing in front of the fire just as Williamson had been dozing alone in the ballroom. When shaken into consciousness the latter had informed Roger that the women had retired, worn-out, to get a little sleep before the inspector wanted to see them. The time was now close on half-past four in the morning.
With ruthless hand Roger roused Colin into complete wakefulness.
“There’s going to be no sleep for you this night, my lad; nor for me either. Come into the ballroom. I want to talk to you, seriously.”
“Ach, let me alone, man. I told you I’d forget it.” At four-thirty in the morning sleep becomes almost more important than murder.
“Come along,” said Roger sternly.
Grumbling, Colin went.
“Where are the doctors?” Roger asked, as they shut themselves in and sat down.
“Gone, while you were downstairs. They came up for a wee night-cap and then went off. Poor chaps, they looked whacked, both of them.”
“I wonder they were able to get away so early?” Roger said heartlessly.
“They’d made their report, and the inspector said he wouldn’t want them any more. They’ve got to see the superintendent some time today. You were a very long time downstairs, Roger. Put you through it, did they?”
“Oh, they were quite kind,” Roger said bitterly. “I told them how I’d committed the murder, and they just told me to run away and be a good boy and not do that sort of thing again.”
“Ah! ” said Colin. Evidently he did not consider this a suitable topic for jest.
“Blast you, Colin, I’ve got to find out who did it now. I’m not going to have you looking at me for the rest of my life as if I was a murderer. It’s going to keep me up all night, and it’s going to keep you up, too; so that for your infernal interference.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re going to help me. So we’d better get down to it.”
But they did not get down to it at once. For some minutes they sat in silence, busy with their thoughts. Then Colin looked up.
“You know, Roger, say what you like, this is damned interesting. It really was murder, was it? You’re convinced of that?”
“Absolutely. It must have been. The hypothetical case I put to you in the sun-parlour, like a damned fool, was the real one. That chair wasn’t there at all. I put it there.”
“But why? That’s what I can’t understand. Why?”
Roger tried to explain why.
“And have you blabbed it out to anyone else besides me?” asked Colin.
“No,” said Roger, wincing.
“Well, what’s your idea? I’ll help you. Why, man, this is great stuff. I hope it wasn’t wee Ronald, because I like him.”
“No,” Roger said slowly. “I have an idea it wasn’t wee Ronald.”
“But you have an idea it might have been someone else? Come on, Roger, out with it. This is grand.”
“Yes, I have got an idea. Do you remember what I was saying to you in the sun-parlour, about a man being actuated not by a material motive but a spiritual one?”
“Sure I do. What’s in your mind?”
“Well, I was trying out a theory on you, to see how it sounded.”
“It sounded all right to me. Or the way you put it, it did.”
“And to me, too. Colin, I’m pretty sure I know who did string up Ena Stratton.”
“The dickens you do! Who?”
“Dr. Philip Chalmers,” said Roger.
V
“Phil Chalmers?” Colin echoed incredulously. “Oh, come now Roger. He’s a grand fellow.”
“It’s just because he’s a grand fellow that I suspect him,” Roger retorted. “Or partially. You see, he hasn’t any other motive.”
“This is going a bit too deep for me. I don’t see this at all.”
“Well, look at it this way,” Roger explained with energy. “Chalmers is a very old friend of the Strattons. And he’s a doctor. That means that he’s in a better situation than anyone else to know exactly the position with regard to Ena Stratton: that she’d make the life of any man living with her a burden and a misery to him, and that there’s no hope at all of her ever getting any better. He knows, in fact, that Mrs. Stratton ought to be behind locked doors, but that she just can’t be.
“Now, Chalmers’s particularly close friend among the Strattons is not Ronald, but David. And Chalmers, as you say, is a grand fellow. It’s impossible that Chalmers shouldn’t have been very worried and very upset by the fact that his great friend David is being led the hell of a life by a worthless woman. Obviously he must have been. You’re with me so far, I suppose?”
“Yes, I’ll grant you all that. But what next?”
“Well, briefly, that he saw an opportunity to-night of getting rid of her, and just took it.”
“Ach!”
“Wait a minute. I said, he saw an opportunity. I don’t for a moment suggest that Chalmers planned to get rid of Ena Stratton. He isn’t that type at all. He couldn’t plan a crime; certainly not a murder. But on the other hand, he’s a man of character. If the opportunity presented itself, I can quite see him seizing it. And you must remember that he’d seen enough this evening to stir him up to a considerable pitch of indignation on David’s behalf. Mrs. Stratton did make an exhibition of herself, didn’t she? And as David’s friend, Chalmers was probably quite as embarrassed, altruistically, as David was on his own behalf. Perhaps a little more so. David seems to have become rather dulled to his wife’s performances in public. You needn’t look at me like that, Colin. It’s quite conceivable.”
“Well, say it was. What was the opportunity, then? How did he do it?”
“I imagine they must have been on the roof together. Perhaps they were leaning over the railing, and she was inflicting her remarkable introspections on him, as she seems to have done on most people this evening. She may even have been trying to get him to make love to her.”
“Ah, come; steady now, Roger. Talk sense.”
“Women have been known to do such a thing,” Roger said dryly. “Anyhow, let’s say she goaded him just beyond that limit of endurance which we call sanity. They were somewhere near the gallows. Chalmers sees that the figure of the woman has fallen on to the roof; the straw neck wasn’t strong enough to last. Instantly the idea jumps into his mind: put a woman where a woman was! He looks round. It’s all perfectly safe. No one else is likely to come up; it’s too cold. And once she’s safely strung up, it’s odds against anyone finding her for hours. Let him get out of the house on that call of his, and he’s safe. She’s been talking of suicide; it’s bound to be put down to suicide. And then David can live a life of his own again, and half a dozen other people will be able to sleep more easily at night. And no one will regret her. It will be the best mi
nute’s work he ever did in his life.”
“By the time he’d thought all that out, she’d have been down at the bar again, lapping up more double whiskies without soda.”
“Idiot! All those things flash through his mind in ten seconds. There was no time to think, or he’d never have done it. Well, he inveigles her to the gallows, just underneath the noose. And then … For a strong man, just one second would do it, before she even realised what he was after or had time to scream out. Well?”
“Well, it’s a case, I suppose,” Colin said judicially.
“But not so strong as the case against me?”
“I told you, I’d forgotten that. But come now, Roger, you know well enough that’s all guesswork. You haven’t a mite of evidence. Besides, you said ‘once he got out of the house on that call of his.’ But he’d gone. He wasn’t here at all. We saw him go.”
“And then we went into the ballroom. All of us. Chalmers could have come up again, couldn’t he?”
“But man, you’re talking at random. He could have come up again, yes. But where’s even a wee bit of evidence that he did?”
“As a matter of fact, Colin, there is a tiny bit of evidence. I don’t say that it proves Chalmers did come up again after we’d all gone into the ballroom; but it does prove that he was on the roof some time this evening. Mrs. Williamson found his pipe in the sun-parlour. Ronald identified it.”
“Ach! He could have left it there any time.”
“He could, yes. And he did. That’s the point. I’m not suggesting that he left it there then, and the talk with Mrs. Stratton was conducted in the sun-parlour. I’m suggesting that he had left it there earlier; and when he got outside the house on the way to his call, perhaps not until he was actually in his car, he felt for his pipe in the way one does and remembered that he had left it there. So he ran up for it.
We know the front door was left unlatched all the evening, so there was no difficulty in getting in again. And in the sun-parlour he found not only his pipe, but Mrs. Stratton, too, sulking. Perhaps they did talk there, before moving up to the main roof. Anyhow, Mrs. Stratton was intense enough to make him forget his pipe all over again.
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