“Oh, well—probably someone just kicked it back. In any case, I don’t think it’s a point of any importance, is it?”
“No Mr. Sheringham. Probably not. I just didn’t quite understand about it, and I thought you might have been able to give me some information.”
“Yes, well you see, Inspector, it isn’t the kind of thing about which one can be very accurate. I dare say I ought to have noticed exactly the position of the chair when Mr. Stratton and I got up here, but I’m afraid I was much more concerned in finding out if she was really dead, and trying to save her life if she wasn’t.”
“Yes sir, of course. Yes, I quite understand that. No doubt it’s of no importance at all.”
“And there was a certain amount of confusion up here, you must remember. Mr. Stratton and I, and Mr. Williamson and Mr. Nicolson, too. And it was quite dark. No, I think it’s only surprising that the chair didn’t end up in the garden below, instead of more or less where it started from.”
“Yes, no doubt you’re quite right, Mr. Sheringham,” agreed the inspector, and made a note in his little book.
But he did not sound quite so convinced as Roger would have liked.
Ronald Stratton, who had been viewing this exchange apparently with tolerant amusement, said:
“Well, that was all you wanted to ask Mr. Sheringham, Inspector?”
It’s all very well, my dear Ronald, thought Roger, but there is such a thing as over-confidence. He was astonished that Ronald should have made such a blunder over the chair, for the second time. Apparently he still did not realise its vital importance.
“Yes, I think so, Mr. Stratton, thank you,” the inspector replied, perhaps a little uncertainly.
“And you’ve finished up here?”
“For the time being, sir, yes.”
“Then come down into the house and let me give you a glass of beer. It’s getting on for twelve o’clock.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stratton. I wish I could say yes, but I have to see the superintendent. I’ll just say a word to my man, and then I must be off.”
The inspector walked aside and said a few words to his constable in a low voice. Neither Roger nor Stratton could overhear them, nor tried.
“You’ll have a spot of beer, Roger?” Ronald remarked, more in the manner of one making a statement than asking a question.
“Thanks,” Roger agreed. “I will.”
“I’ll come upstairs again, when I’ve seen the inspector off.”
“No,” said Roger, “I’ll come down.” He wanted a closed door between them and the rest of the world while he said a few firm words to Ronald on the topic of his imbecility, and the late bar-room was altogether too public.
They escorted the inspector politely to the front door, chatting about the weather, and Stratton took Roger into his study.
“I keep a cask in here,” he said happily. “It’s handier. This cupboard might have been specially built for a cask, mightn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Roger. “Look here, Ronald …”
Ronald looked round from the tankard he was filling. “Yes?”
“I want to speak to you, in words of one syllable. Don’t, you inconceivable bonehead, say anything more about not remembering that chair being there when we were taking down the body last night.”
Ronald turned off the tap, put the other tankard under it, and turned it on again.
“What’s that? Why not?”
“Because,” Roger explained, with suppressed fury, “the presence of that chair, nincompoop, means suicide, and its absence means—murder. Think it out, and you’ll see.”
Ronald Stratton turned a suddenly white face over his shoulder and stared at Roger, while the beer ran unheeded over the top of the tankard.
“Good lord!” he muttered. “That had simply never occurred to me.”
He turned back, mechanically stopped the flow from the cask, and got to his feet.
“I say, Roger—”
“No,” Roger interrupted quickly. “Much better not.”
Ronald didn’t.
II
They drank their beer, looking surreptitiously at each other.
Then Roger said, in quite a casual voice:
“Want any help in getting things down from the roof, Ronald? There are still some things up there—chairs and things. It’s nice and sunny now, but who knows whether it mayn’t rain later, in April?”
Ronald grinned. “That’s quite a sound idea, Roger. Yes, I’d like your help.”
They finished off their tankards and went solemnly up to the roof.
With a nod to the constable, who was still loitering there, Ronald walked over to the nearest pair of chairs, near the steps that led down to the sun-parlour. Before he could touch them, however, the constable had lifted his voice.
“Sorry, Mr. Stratton, sir, were you wanting anything?”
“Yes, we’re going to take these chairs and things into the house, in case it rains later. It’s April, you know.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said the constable portentously, “but the inspector said for me to see that nothing wasn’t moved up here.”
“He did?” Roger could not tell whether Stratton was really surprised, or was only acting surprise; in either case he sounded highly surprised. “But why?”
“Couldn’t tell you, sir. But that’s what he said. Nothing to be moved, nor touched. He left me here for the purpose.”
“What on earth …?” said Stratton, and lifted his eyebrows at Roger.
“But surely Inspector Crane didn’t mean that nothing was to be touched on the whole roof, constable?” Roger came to the rescue.
“Sorry, sir, those are my orders. Nothing to be moved on this roof, nor yet touched.”
“Oh, well!” Roger shrugged his shoulders. “There must be some mistake, I think, but you’ll have to wait for the inspector to put it right, Ronald. Inspector Crane will be coming back soon, I take it, as he’s left you here?” he added to the constable.
“‘Bout half an hour, he said, sir.”
“I see. Well, Ronald, we must just wait, that’s all. Shall we go in?”
As they went down the stairs Ronald said:
“Surely that’s rather queer, Sheringham, isn’t it?”
“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” Roger replied. “Probably the superintendent has told Crane he’d like to have a look at the scene before things are moved, and Crane’s gone off to get him.”
“But Crane didn’t say anything last night about things not being moved on the roof when I took him up there.”
“Well, he hadn’t seen the superintendent then, had he?” Roger said smoothly. But he felt a little uneasy. It certainly was rather queer.
Downstairs they found Colin reading the Sunday Times in front of the hall fire.
“Hullo Colin, all alone?” said Ronald. “None of the women down yet?”
“No, nor Osbert either, the lazy hound. Oh by the way, Ronald, I told you I’d be pushing off after lunch. Sorry, I’ve got to change my plans. I’ll be staying to-night.”
“Well, we shall be very glad to have you, Colin. Decided your appointment wasn’t so urgent after all?”
“Not a bit of it. I met that inspector chap as I was coming in just now, and he asked me was it a fact that I was going off after lunch? I said it was and he told me there was nothing doing, or words to that effect.”
“Told you you couldn’t go?” Ronald said incredulously.
“Well, not quite like that. He said I should probably be wanted at the inquest tomorrow, and it would be a great convenience to him if I stayed; so of course I said I would. But if I’d said I couldn’t, I wouldn’t put it past him to have told me I’d jolly well got to. He had that sort of look in his eye.”
“The devil he had !” said Ronald.
III
The half-hour passed slowly, and as it passed Roger’s uneasiness grew.
He knew the signs, and he knew the ways of the police. The inspector was not s
atisfied: that was quite obvious. But what on earth could have managed to rouse his dissatisfaction? If it was just the position of the chair, then that really was the most thundering bad luck; for had everything been as innocent as it could be, it was inevitable that the chair should have been kicked about a bit, with four men scrimmaging round it. The inspector could hardly have expected that it could have been left quite untouched.
No, in spite of his deferential manner, Inspector Crane must be a busybody. With a death at such a house as Sedge Park, he saw his chance of making himself important. If he could find a few niggling points over which to raise queries, he could get his name put forward as a keen man. And the devil of it was that, without knowing it, Inspector Crane might be carrying a match towards a powder-magazine. If he really did begin to uncover the surface, heaven knew what train he might not fire. Roger hoped most sincerely, and with all the fervour of a guilty conscience, that Inspector Crane’s match might prove a damp one.
The same constraint seemed to be resting on the others as on himself. They sat in gloomy silence, round the big open fireplace and rustled their newspapers, but it was doubtful if any of the three read very much. As the time passed Roger began to feel more and more like a school-boy before a house-match; that nasty sensation of sick emptiness. And if he felt like that, what must Ronald Stratton be feeling?
For Ronald’s reception of the warning about the chair had gone all the way to confirm Roger’s conclusion. There had been real fear on the face that Ronald had shown him: and in these circumstances fear could surely be caused only by a knowledge of guilt, either on his own behalf or David’s. Well, Roger would do all he possibly could for him, but there might be some awkward times ahead, with this infernal inspector raking over the dung-heap. It would look bad, uncommonly bad, if the man brought to light the feelings with which the Stratton family in general had regarded Ena; and precious little raking would be needed to do that.
A few minutes after twelve o’clock Mr. Williamson appeared, looking perhaps a trifle yellow round the eyes and, with a perfunctory remark or two, added himself to the silent circle. Again the rustling of newspapers was the only sound in the hall.
Once Ronald Stratton betrayed his anxiety by a muttered remark.
“I thought the constable said Crane would be back in half an hour? It’s forty minutes already since he went.”
At twenty-five minutes past twelve Ronald’s parlourmaid presented herself at Williamson’s side and said, in a flat voice which must have masked much interior fluttering:
“I beg your pardon, sir, but Inspector Crane would like to speak to you for a moment, on the roof.”
“What? To me, did you say? He wants to speak to me?”
“If you please, sir.”
“Inspector Crane?” Stratton repeated. “I didn’t know he was here, Edith.”
“Yes, sir. He came about a quarter of an hour ago, with Superintendent Jamieson and another gentleman.”
“But—I never saw them come, and I’ve been in here all the time.”
“They came to the back door, sir.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?”
“They said they were just going up to the roof for a minute or two sir, and it wasn’t necessary to disturb you, so I didn’t think to tell you.”
“I see. Well, if they come—if anyone comes like that another time, Edith, I think you’d better let me know.”
“Very good, sir.”
“What’s up?” asked Williamson, as the parlourmaid disappeared. “Eh? What’s it all about? What’s he want to see me for? I saw him last night, and told him everything I knew. What’s he want to see me again for?”
“I don’t know, Osbert, but presumably you’d better go.”
“Yes, I suppose I had. Well, I wonder what the devil he wants to see me for.”
Williamson began to climb the staircase which led up from one end of the big hall.
Roger watched his back in an agonised way. He was quite sure there was some terribly important thing he must say to Williamson before the interview, some warning hint he must give him which would smooth everything out. There was such a thing, but his mind seemed paralysed. He could think of nothing at all. In a kind of hopeless despair he watched Williamson out of sight.
“Well,” Ronald muttered, “and what the deuce do you make of that?”
Colin looked at them over the huge horn-rimmed spectacles he used for reading. “Dirty work in the camp?” he asked tentatively.
“Don’t know yet,” Roger answered, in a tone to discourage further questions in front of Ronald.
Ronald made a movement as if to rise. “Shall I go up?” he asked.
“Better not,” Roger said. “They obviously don’t want you.”
“The superintendent has come, then?”
“Yes. I thought that’s what it might be.”
“Yes. I wonder who the other one is?”
“Oh, some plain-clothes man, I expect.”
“I expect so. But why on earth should they want Williamson?”
“Well, he found the body, didn’t he?”
“Oh yes, so he did. Yes, that’s why the superintendent wants to see him, of course. Just routine I suppose?”
“That’s it, no doubt. Just routine.”
But Roger did not think it was routine at all.
Williamson was away for twenty minutes, and they were the longest twenty minutes that Roger had ever known.
Williamson was wearing his guilty grin.
“Third degree’s nothing to it,” he said, as he dropped into his chair.
“Nothing to what, Osbert?” asked Colin.
“To what they’ve been putting me through up there. Eh? This is a nice party of yours, Ronald. Haven’t you even got a drink to offer me? Eh? Haven’t you?”
“Damn drinks. Are the police still up there?”
“You bet they are. The superintendent, the inspector, two constables and—”
“What did they want to see you for?”
“Oh, a lot of damn nonsense. Wanted me to tell the superintendent everything I told the inspector last night, and a hell of a lot more. How I found the body, which way it was facing, how far I thought the feet were off the ground, where some chair or other was, how—”
Roger uttered an exclamation. He had remembered at last what the thing was about which he should have warned Williamson—the chair. He ought to have inserted into Williamson’s consciousness, just as he had tried last night to insert it into Colin’s, the idea that the chair had been there from the beginning. Now it was too late.
“Eh, Sheringham? What did you say?”
“Nothing. Oh, yes. What did you tell them about the chair?” Roger avoided Colin’s eye.
“Told them I couldn’t remember, of course. How could I possibly remember a thing like that?”
“And what did they say to that?”
“Told me to try and remember. Told me to try and throw my mind back to the moment I found the body, and see if I couldn’t picture the scene and all that, and where was the chair? Well, I did remember as a matter of fact that it couldn’t have been in the middle of the gallows, because I walked clean through them. So I said it must have been under the body.”
“Yes?”
“And then they said it couldn’t have been under the body or Mrs. Stratton would have been able to stand on it. So I said it must have been beyond the body then, mustn’t it? Well it must, mustn’t it? So then they asked me if I remembered now that it was beyond the body, and so I was getting a bit fed up and said I did, and would I swear to it and I said no, I wouldn’t swear to it, because I wasn’t prepared to swear to it, but that’s where it must have been, and now for heaven’s sake, Ronald, let me have a drink. I’ve been through the third degree, man. Eh? You don’t seem to understand. What with the police and then Lilian, and now you people—”
“Lilian?” said Colin idly.
“I met her on the stairs, and of course she had to know all about e
verything, too.” Mr. Williamson sighed deeply, as a husband will.
Roger was considering Mr. Williamson’s story. Williamson had given him better luck than might have been expected. At any rate he had not denied the presence of the chair altogether, as he very well might have done. But according to Williamson’s account, the police had framed their questions in a rather odd way; they had seemed much more concerned with the exact position of the chair than with the possibility of its total absence. Did that mean that they really were worrying only over Inspector Crane’s ridiculously insignificant point and the other alternative had never occurred to them at all? If so, they were more foolish than Roger would have expected; but he would be very grateful to them for their foolishness.
Williamson sipped the glass of sherry with which he had now been provided and continued his story.
“Well, I don’t know what else there is to tell you. They kept on asking me that sort of thing, and the inspector wrote most of it down. Where? Oh, we were in the sun-parlour. Didn’t I tell you that? Eh? Yes, that’s where we were. The inspector and the superintendent and me. In the sun-parlour.
“Oh, I know something else they asked me about. Yes, look here Ronald, they’re on to the state of affairs about your sister-in-law. Like hell they are. You’d better watch out there. I mean, they might make a spot of trouble over that, mightn’t they? Eh? Driven to suicide, poor girl, because of being cold-shouldered and all that, you know.”
“What state of affairs?” Ronald demanded.
“Why, my dear fellow, that all of you hated the woman like poison. What? You did, didn’t you? Well, they’re on to it all right.”
“How do you mean?”
“Why, they kept asking me, had I noticed during the evening any coolness between Mrs. Stratton and any of the members of her husband’s family? Had I noticed any bad blood and what’s-its-name? Did I know that Mrs. Stratton was not persona grata or whatever you call it in this house? Had I seen a quarrel between Mrs. Stratton and her husband during the evening?”
“Well?” Ronald said sharply. “What did you say to that?”
“Oh, I didn’t give you away. It’s perfectly all right. Of course, I told them it was all news to me, I hadn’t noticed anything; so far as I’d seen, your brother and she seemed a particularly affectionate couple; you all appeared not to be able to do enough for her. It’s quite all right,” said Mr. Williamson with pride. “I handed out the dope good and strong.”
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