Gently General Mason touched Sir William's arm as they turned away. The latter had not spoken for a long time; he had remained holding to the rail and staring into the dimness of the area; and he did not speak now. He walked quietly at the general's side as they returned.
Still holding the hat under his arm, and propping flashlight against notebook, Hadley made several notations. His heavy, quiet face, with the expressionless dark eyes, was bent close over it in the torch-gleam.
He nodded, and shut the book.
`To continue, General. About that crossbow bolt. Does it belong here?'
`I have been wondering how long you would take to get to that,' the other answered, sharply. `I don't know. I am inquiring. There is a collection of crossbows and a few bolts here; it is in a glass case in the armoury on the second floor of the White Tower. But I am perfectly certain nothing has been stolen from there…. However, we have a workshop in the Brick Tower, on the other side of the parade-ground, which we use for cleaning and repairing the armour and weapons on display. I've sent for the warder in charge. He will be able to tell you.'
`But could one of your display crossbows have been used?' `Oh yes. They are kept in as careful repair as though we meant to use them as weapons ourselves.'
Hadley fell to whistling between his teeth. Then he turned to Dr Fell.
`For a, person who enjoys talking as much as you do, Doctor,' he said, `you have been incredibly silent. Have you any ideas?'
A long sniff rumbled in the doctor's nose. `Yes,' he returned, `yes, I have. But they don't concern windows or crossbows. They concern hats. Let me have that topper, will you?'
Hadley handed it over without a word.
`This,' General Mason explained, as they turned to the left at the Byward Tower, 'is the smaller Warders' Hall; we have our enforced guests in the other.' He pushed open a door under the arch, and motioned to them to pass.
It was not until Rampole entered the warmth of the room that he realized how chilled and stiff he was. A large coal fire crackled under a hooded fireplace. The room was circular and comfortable, with a groined roof from which hung a cluster of electric lights, and cross-slits of windows high up in the wall. Behind a large flat desk, his hands folded upon it, sat a straight-backed elderly man, regarding them from under tufted white eyebrows. He wore the costume of the Yeomen Warders, but his was much more elaborate than those Rampole had seen. Besides him a tall, thin young man with a stoop was making notes on a slip of paper.
`Sit down, gentlemen,' said General Mason. `This is Mr Radburn, the chief warder; and Mr Dalrye, my secretary.'
He waved his guests to chairs after he had performed the introductions, and produced a cigar-case. `What have you got now?'
The chief warder shook his head. He pushed out the chair in which he had been sitting for General Mason.
`Not much, I'm afraid, sir. I've just questioned the guards from the White Tower, and the head workman from the repair shop. Mr Dalrye has the notes in shorthand.'
The young man shuffled some papers and blinked at General Mason. He had a long, rather doleful face, but a humorous mouth. His good-humoured, rather near-sighted grey eyes were bitter; he fumbled with a pair of pince-nez on a chain, then stared down at his papers.
`Good afternoon, sir,' he, said to Sir William. 'They told me you were here. I… — I can't say anything, can I? You know how I feel.'
Then, still staring at his papers, he changed the subject with a rush. `I have the notes here, sir,' he told General Mason. `Nothing has, been stolen from the armoury, of course. And the head workman at the shop, as well as both warders from the second floor of the White Tower, are willing to swear that crossbow bolt is not in the collection and never has been in any collection here!’
'Why? You can't possibly identify a thing like that, can you?'
`John Brownlow got rather technical about it. And he's by way of being an authority, sir. It's here. He says' — Dalrye adjusted his pince-nez and blinked `he says it's a much earlier type of bolt than any we have here. That is, judging from what he can see of it… in the body. Late fourteenth-century pattern. Ah, here we are. "The later ones are much shorter and thicker, and with a broader barb at the head. That one's so thin it wouldn't fit smoothly in the groove of any crossbow in the lot."
General Mason turned to Hadley, who was carefully removing his overcoat. `You're in charge now. So ask any questions you like. Give that chair to the chief inspector..;. But I think that proves it wasn't fired, unless you believe the murderer brought his own bow.' Then it couldn't have been shot from one of the crossbows here, Dalrye?'
Brownlow says it could have been, but that there would be a hundred-to-one chance of the bolt going wild.'
Mason nodded, and regarded the chief inspector with tight-lipped satisfaction. Rampole saw him for the first time in full light. He had removed his soggy hat and waterproof, and flung them on a bench; evidently there was about him none of that fussiness which is associated with the brass hat. Now he stood warming his hands at the fire, and peering round his shoulder at Hadley.
`Well?' he demanded. `What's the first step' now?'
Dalrye put down his papers on the table,
`I think you'd better know,' he said, speaking between Mason and Sir William. `There are two people here among the visitors who are certain to have an interest in this. They're over with the others in the Warders' Hall, I wish you'd give me instructions, sir. Mrs Bitton has been raising the devil ever since…'
`Who?' demanded Sir William. He had been staring at the fire, and he lifted his head suddenly.
`Mrs Lester Bitton. As I say, she's been — '
Sir William rumpled his white pompadour and looked blankly at Mason. `My sister-in-law… What on earth would she be doing here?'
Hadley had sat, down at his desk, and was arranging note-book, pencil, and flashlight in a line with the utmost precision He glanced up with mild interest.
`Ah,' he said, `I'm glad to hear it. It centres our efforts, so to speak. But don't trouble her for the moment, Mr Dalrye; we can see her presently.' He folded his hands and contemplated Sir William, a wrinkle between his brows. `Why does it surprise you that Mrs Lester Bitton should be here?'
`Why, you know…' Sir William began in some perplexity, and broke off. `No. As a matter of fact, you don't know her, do you? Well she's of the sporting type; you'll' see. I say, did you tell her about… about Philip, Bob?' He spoke hesitantly.
`I had to,' Dalrye' answered, grimly.
Hadley had picked up his pencil, and seemed intent on boring a hole in the desk top with its point.
`And the second person among the visitors, Mr` Dalrye?' he asked.
The other frowned. `It's a Mr Arbor, Inspector. Julius Arbor. He's rather famous as a book-collector, and I believe he's stopping at Sir William's house.'
Sir William raised his head. His eyes grew sharp again, for the first time since he had heard: the news of the murder.
He said: `Interesting. 'Damned interesting.' And he walked over with' a springy step to sit down in a chair near the desk.
`That's better,' approved the chief inspector, laying down his pencil. 'But for the moment we shan't trouble Mr Arbor, either. I should like to get the complete story of Mr Driscoll's movements to-day. You said something, General, about a rather wild tale connected with it.'
General Mason turned from the fire.
`Mr Radburn,' he said to the chief warder, `will you send to the King's House for Parker? Parker,' he explained, as the other left the room, 'is my orderly and general handyman. Meantime, Dalrye, you might tell the chief inspector about the wild-goose chase.'
Dalrye nodded. He looked suddenly older.
`You see, Inspector,' he said, `I didn't know what it meant then, and I don't know now. Except that it was a frame-up of some sort against Phil.'
His long legs were shaking a trifle as he lowered himself into a chair.
`Take your time, Mr Dalrye,' said the chief inspector. `Sir William — excuse me — has told us you are his daughter's fiance. So I presume you knew young Driscoll well?'
`Very well. I thought a hell of a lot of Phil,' Dalrye answered quietly. He blinked as the smoke got into one eye. `And naturally this business isn't pleasant. Well — you see, he had the idea that I was one of these intensely, practical people who can find a way out of any difficulty. He was always getting into scrapes, and always coming to me to help him out of them.'
`Difficulties?' repeated the chief inspector. He was sitting back in his chair, his eyes half closed, but he was looking at Sir William. `What sort of difficulties?'
Dalrye hesitated. `Financial, as a rule. Nothing important. He'd run up bills, and things like that…'
`Women?' asked Hadley, suddenly. "
'Oh Lord! don't we all?' demanded the other, uncomfortably. `I mean to say.. ' He flushed. `Sorry. But nothing important there, either; I know that. He was always ringing me up in the middle of the night to say he'd met some girl at a dance who was the-absolute One and Only. He would rave. It lasted about a month, generally.'
`But nothing serious? Excuse me, Mr Dalrye,' said the chief inspector, as the other waved his, hand, `but I am looking for a motive for murder, you know. I have to ask such questions. So there was nothing serious?'
`No.'
`Please go on.'
`Well, Phil telephoned here early this morning, and Parker answered the telephone in the general's study. I wasn't up as a matter of fact. He began talking rather incoherently, Parker says, and said they were to tell me he would be down here at the Tower at one o'clock sharp; that he was in bad trouble and needed help. In the middle of it I heard my name mentioned, and came out and talked to him myself.
`I thought it was probably nothing at all, but to humour him I said I should be here. Though, I told Jim, I had to go out early in the afternoon.’
`You see, if it hadn't been for that. As it happened, General Mason had asked me to take the touring-car up to a garage in Holborn and have the horn repaired. It's an, electric horn, and it got so that if you pressed it you couldn't stop the thing's blowing.'
Hadley frowned. `A garage in Holborn? That's rather unnecessarily out of the way, isn't it?'
Again a dull anger at the back of Mason's eyes. He was standing with his back to the fireplace, legs wide apart; he spoke curtly.
`Quite right, sir. You see it in a moment. But it happens to be run by an old army man; sergeant, by the way, who did me rather a good turn once.'
`Ah,' said Hadley. `Well, Mr Dalrye?'
Rampole, leaning against a row of bookshelves with an unlighted cigarette in his fingers, tried again to imagine that all this was real; that he was really being drawn again into the dodges and terrors of a murder case. Undoubtedly it was true. But there was a difference between this affair and the murder of Martin Starberth. He was not, now, vitally concerned in its outcome. Through chance and, courtesy he was allowed to be present merely as a witness, detached and unprejudiced, of the lighted playbox where lay a corpse in an opera hat.
It was as bright as a play in the ancient room. There behind the desk sat the patient, watchful chief inspector, with his steel-wire hair and his clipped moustache, indolently folding his hands. On one side of him sat Sir William, his shrewdness glittering again behind impassive eyes; and on the other was the thin, wry-faced Robert Dalrye. Still bristling, General Mason stood with his back to the fire. And in the largest chair over against the fireplace, Dr Fell bad spread himself out and, he was contemplating with an owlish and naive gaze the opera hat in his hands.
Rampole became aware that Dalrye was speaking, and jerked his thoughts back.
‘so I didn't think much more about it. That was all, until somewhere about one o'clock, the time Phil said he would be here. The phone rang again, and Parker answered it. It was Phil, asking for me. At least,' said Dalrye, squashing out his cigarette suddenly, 'it sounded like Phil. I was in the record-room at the time, working on the notes for the general's book, and Parker transferred the call. Phil was more chaotic than he had been in the morning. He said that, for a reason he couldn't explain over the phone,' he couldn't come to the Tower, but that I had got to come to his flat and see him. He used his old phrase — I'd heard it dozens of times before — that it was a matter of life or death.’
`I was annoyed. I said I had work to do, and I damned well wouldn't do it, and that if he, wanted to see me he could come down here. Then he swore it really was a matter of life or death. And he said I had to come to Town, anyway; his flat was in Bloomsbury, and I had, to take the car to a garage which wasn't very far away; it wouldn't be out of my way if I dropped in. That was perfectly true. So I agreed.
Dalrye shifted in his chair. `I'll admit — well, it did sound more convincing than the other times. I thought he might really have got himself into a genuine mess.'
`Had you any definite reason to believe this?'
`N-no. Yes. Well, make of it what you like.' Dalrye's gaze strayed across to the corner, where Dr Fell was still examining the top-hat with absorbed interest. Dalrye shifted uneasily. `You see, Phil had been in rather high spirits recently. That was why I was so surprised at this change of front. He had been making a play with his stories on this hat-thief thing… you know?'
`We have good reason, to know,' the inspector said. His look had suddenly become one of 'veiled' interest. `Go on, please!’
'It was the sort of story he could do admirably.' He'd been free-lancing, and he hoped the editor might give him a permanent column. So, as I say, I, was astonished when I heard him say what he did. And I remember, I said, "What's the row, anyway? I thought you were following the hat-thief, " And he said, "That's just it," in a sort of queer voice. "I've followed it too, far. I've stirred up something, and it's got me."
The chief inspector leaned forward.
`Yes?' he prompted. `You gathered that Driscoll, thought he was in danger from this hat-thief?'
`Something like that. Naturally, I joked about it. I remember asking, "What's the matter; are you afraid he'll steal your hat?" And he said, "It's' not my hat I'm worried about. It's my head."
There was a silence. Then Hadley spoke casually:
`So you left the Tower. to go to his place. What then?'
`Now comes the odd part of it. I drove up to the garage; it's in Dane Street, High Holborn. The mechanic was busy on a job at the moment. He said he could fix the horn in a few minutes, but I should have to wait until he finished with the car he was working on. So I decided to walk to the flat, and pick up the car later. There was no hurry.'
Hadley reached for his notebook. `The address of the flat?' 'Tavistock Chambers, 34 Tavistock Square, WC. It's number two, on the ground floor…. Well, when I got there I rang at his door for a long time, and nobody answered.` So I went in.'
`The door was open?'
`No. But I have a key. You see, the gates of the Tower of London are closed at ten o'clock sharp every night, and the King himself would have a time getting in after that. So, when I went to a theatre or a dance or something of the sort, I had to have a place to stay the night, and I usually stopped on the couch in Phil's sitting-room…. Where was I? Oh yes. Well, I sat down to wait for him.'
Dalrye drew a long breath. He put the palm of his hand suddenly down on the table.
`About fifteen minutes or so after I had left the Tower, Phil Driscoll appeared at the general's quarters here and asked for me. Parker naturally said I had gone out in response to his phone message. Then, Parker says, Phil got as pale as death; he began to rave and call Parker mad. He had phoned that morning asking to see me at one o'clock… But he swore he had not changed the appointment. He swore he had never telephoned a second time at all.'