This suggestion, hurled at his head like a challenge, was received by Neville with unruffled placidity. He appeared to consider the matter dispassionately, remarking at length: "Well, I don't know that I altogether agree with you."
"What?" said Sally scornfully. "You don't agree that a fortune is better than debt?"
"Depends what you're accustomed to," said Neville.
"Don't be a fool! You don't imagine I'm going to swallow that, do you?"
"No."
"Then what on earth's the use of saying it?"
"I mean I haven't speculated on the processes of your mind," explained Neville. "Unprofitable occupation, quite without point."
"Look here, Neville, are you sticking to it that you've no objection to being snowed under by debts?" demanded Sally.
"Yes, why not?"
"It doesn't add up, that's why not. There's nothing more uncomfortable than not having any money, and being dunned by tradesmen. Receiving To Account Rendered by every post, with a veiled threat attached, and totting up the ghastly totals -'
"Oh, but I don't do anything like that!" Neville assured her. "I never open bills."
"Then you get County Courted."
"You soon get used to that. Besides, Ernie hated it, so he got into the way of paying my outstanding debts. Really, the whole thing worked out very well. Now I've got his money I shall never have a moment's peace. People will badger me."
"Well, you can employ a secretary."
"I shouldn't like that at all. I should have to have a house to put him in, and servants to run it, and before I knew what had happened I should find myself shackled by respectability."
This point of view struck Sally quite forcibly. "I must say, I hadn't looked at it like that," she admitted. "It does sound rather lousy. What do you want to do?"
"Nothing, at the moment. But I may easily want to wander off to Bulgaria next week. It's a place I hardly know."
"You'll still be able to, won't you?"
"First class ticket to Sofia, and a suite at the best hotel? Not if I know it!"
Sally was so much interested that she was beguiled into pursuing the subject of foreign travel. Neville's disjointed yet picturesque account of incredible adventures encountered during the course of aimless and impecunious wanderings held her entranced, and drew from her at length a rather wistful exclamation of: "Golly, what fun you must have had! I wish I were a man. Why haven't you written a book about all this?"
"That," said Neville incorrigibly, "would have invested my travels with a purpose, and spoilt them for me."
"You're definitely sub-human," said Sally. She eyed him curiously. "Does anything ever worry you?"
"Yes. Problem of how to escape worry."
She grinned, but said: "I hate paradox. Does this little situation worry you?"
"What, Ernie's murder? No, why should it?"
"Does it strike you that you've got a pretty good motive for having killed Ernie?"
"Naturally not."
"The police will think so."
"Too busy chasing after the unknown man seen by Helen and Malachi."
"Who?"
"Haven't you met Malachi?" said Neville, roused to sudden interest. "Oh, I must introduce you at once! Come on!"
"Yes, but who is he?" demanded Sally.
He took her wrist and led her out into the garden through the long window. "He's the bobby who discovered the crime."
"Good Lord, did he see Helen's man too? That wasn't in the paper John brought home!"
"Oh, here we live at the hub of the crime!" said Neville. Just a moment," interposed Sally, pulling her hand away. "I want to take a look at the general lay-out. Anyone mounting guard over the study?"
"Not now. Nothing to be seen."
"I might get an idea," Sally said darkly.
"Morbid mind, professional interest, or family feeling?" She ignored the implication of this last alternative.
"Professional interest."
They had rounded the corner of the house, and come in sight of the path leading to a gate set in the fence separating the garden from Maple Grove. A thick bed of shrubs concealed the fence from view, and was being subjected to a rigorous search by two hot and rather dishevelled policemen. Sally cast them a cursory glance, and transferred her attention to the house. "Which is Helen's bush?"
He pointed it out to her, and she went to it, inspected the footprints, and would have concealed herself behind it had it not been for the prompt action of PC Glass, who, having observed her arrival with some disapproval, now abandoned his search in the shrubbery to admonish her.
"It's all right," said Sally. "I'm not going to obliterate the prints, or anything like that. I only want to get an idea of what anyone hidden here, in the dark, could actually see. I'm interested in crime."
"Remove thy foot from evil," recommended Glass severely. "These things are in the hands of the police."
"Don't you bother your head about me: I've made a study of murder. I may be able to help," said Sally.
"Like me," murmured Neville. "I tried to help, but no one was grateful."
A cold eye was bent upon him. "Bread of deceit is sweet to a man," said Glass. "But afterwards," he added forebodingly, "his mouth shall be filled with gravel."
Sally, having by this time satisfied herself that very little could be seen from behind the currant bush, emerged. "Is that out of the Bible?" she inquired. "Nearly all the best things are, except those that come out of Shakespeare. Can I go into the study, Neville?"
"Do!" he said cordially.
"What is your business here?" demanded Glass. "Why do you desire to enter that room?"
"I'm a novelist," explained Sally. "Crime stories."
"You were better at home," he said sombrely, but made no further attempt to stop her.
Followed by Neville, who had produced a Bible from his pocket, and was swiftly flicking the pages over, Sally entered the study, and stood just inside the window, looking round. Neville sat down on the edge of the desk, absorbed in his search through the Proverbs.
"Where was he found?" Sally said abruptly.
Neville jerked his head in the direction of the chair behind the desk.
"Facing the window?"
"Yes. Don't bother me!"
"Actually seated in his chair?"
"Mm. I've got a goodish bit here about the lips of the strange woman, but that's not the one I want."
"And the murderer is supposed to have entered by way of the window, which Ernie was directly facing?"
"Flattery is the tongue of the strange woman… no, that's not it."
"Oh, do take your head out of that! Don't you see that if the murderer entered by way of the window Ernie must have been entirely unsuspicious? He apparently didn't even get up from his chair!"
"Got it!" said Neville triumphantly. "She is loud and stubborn; her feet abide not in her house. That's you. I'm going to tell Glass." He slid off the edge of the table, and departed in search of the policeman.
Left alone, Sally sat down in an armchair, dropped her chin in her cupped hands, and frowned upon her surroundings. Neville soon reappeared, saying: "He reproved me. Seemed to know the context."
"What was that?" asked Sally absently.
"Not polite. Only two kinds of women in the OT. This was the other kind. Solved the whole mystery?"
"No, but as I see it one fact stands out a mile. It wasn't John."
"All right; have it your own way."
"Yes, but don't you see?" she insisted. "Ernie wasn't expecting to be murdered. If John had walked in, wouldn't he - No, I suppose it doesn't absolutely follow. One doesn't expect even jealous husbands to murder one."
"Oh, is John jealous?" said Neville. "I thought he was quite complaisant."
"That's what a great many people think, but -' She stopped. "Forget it!"
"Crediting me with an earnest desire to incriminate Honest John?" inquired Neville. "Non-existent, believe me."
"Nevertheless I should probably be wise not to say too much to you," said Sally bluntly.
"That's all right with me too," he assured her. "As a subject for conversation, I find that Ernie's murder palls on one."
She looked at him. "You're a cold-blooded fish, Neville. I didn't like Ernie, but gosh, I'm sorry for him!"
"What a waste of emotion!" he remarked. "What's the use of being sorry for a dead man?"
"There's something in that," she admitted. "But it's hardly decent to say so. Oh, damn it all, this is a rotten mess! Why the dickens couldn't you have got hold of those IOUs before it all happened?"
"Oh, have they been found?" said Neville.
"Of course they have!"
John pleased?"
"He doesn't know anything about them. Helen won't tell him."
He blinked. "Let me get this straight, just in case of accidents. What is Helen's story?"
"That she went round to see Ernie on some trivial matter. Yes, I know it's insane, but she probably knows her own business best. John wasn't particularly encouraging, and as he's apparently rabid on the subject of gambling and debts, I daresay she's right not to tell him. If you run into John, you'd better know nothing about it."
"You go home and tell Helen about the bread of deceit," said Neville. "I don't think she's being very clever."
"No, poor darling, but she's all in. I've left her on her bed, and I hope she'll be feeling a bit better by the time I get back - more able to cope. I don't think she slept much last night."
"Well, let's hope she doesn't do anything silly," said Neville. "She probably will, but with any luck she'll merely confuse the issue."
"She happens to be my sister," said Sally frigidly.
"Yes, it's the best thing I know of her," agreed Neville. Sally, taken by surprise, showed signs of being over come.
"And the worst thing I know of you," added Neville dulcetly.
Sally cast him a withering look, and left the study to exercise her charm on the younger of the two policemen still searching the shrubbery.
Helen, meanwhile, was not, as her sister had supposed, upon her bed, but closeted with Superintendent Hannasyde at the police station.
Upon Sally's leaving the house, she had lain for some few minutes, thinking. After glancing once or twice at the telephone she had at last sat up in bed, with the sudden energy of one who has come to a difficult decision, and lifted the receiver off its rest. "I want to be put through to the police station," she told the operator calmly.
She was connected almost immediately, and asked for Superintendent Hannasyde. The voice at the other end of the wire desired her, somewhat suspiciously, to divulge her identity. She hesitated, and then said: "I am Mrs. John North. If Superintendent Hannasyde -'
"Old on a minute!" said the voice.
She waited. Presently a fresh voice addressed her, and she recognised the Superintendent's even tones.
She hurried into speech. "Superintendent, this is Mrs. North speaking. I wonder if I could see you? There's something I wish to tell you."
"Certainly," he replied. "I'll come up to your house."
She glanced at her watch. "No, don't do that. I have to go into town and I can quite easily call in at the police station, if that would be convenient to you?"
"Quite convenient," he said.
"Thank you. I'll be there in about twenty minutes, then. Goodbye!"
She laid the receiver down and, flinging back the eiderdown, slid off the bed on to the floor. She pulled up the blinds which Sally had so thoughtfully lowered, and in the relentless glare of sunlight sat down at her dressing-table, and studied her face in the mirror. It was pale, with shadowed eyes. "Heavens! What a guilty looking sight!" she said under her breath, and with quick, nervous hands, pulled open a drawer and exposed an array of face-creams, lotions, and cosmetics.
Ten minutes later she was pulling on her gloves, her eyes resting critically on her own reflection. Her makeup had been delicately achieved; the face that confronted her from under the brim of a shady hat was faintly tinged with colour, the corn-coloured curls neatly arranged in a cluster in her neck, the eyebrows lightly pencilled, the lovely mouth a glow of red.
On her way down the stairs she encountered her maid, who exclaimed at her, bemoaning the fact that Madam was not resting after all.
"No, I've got to go out," Helen answered. "If Miss Drew should get back before me, tell her I've gone into the town, will you, but shall be back for tea."
She drove herself to the police station, and was taken at once to the somewhat comfortless office where Hannasyde was going through a pile of documents.
He got up as she came in, and favoured her with a rather keen look. "Good-afternoon, Mrs. North. Will you sit down?"
She took a chair on the side of the desk opposite to him. "Thank you. Do you know, the only time I've ever been to a police station before was about a dog I once lost?"
"Indeed?" he said. "What is it you wish to say to me, Mrs. North?"
She raised her eyes to his face. "I want to tell you something which I ought to have told you this morning," she said frankly.
"Yes?"
His voice betrayed nothing but a kind of polite interest. She found it a little disconcerting, and stumbled over her next words. "It was silly of me, but you know how it is when one is suddenly confronted - or no, perhaps you don't. It's always you who - who asks the questions, isn't it?"
"I have had plenty of experience of people who either concealed the truth, or told me only a part of it, if that is what you mean, Mrs. North."
"I suppose it is," she admitted. "Perhaps you can understand, though, how awkward it was for me, when you - well, exposed my - my indiscretions this morning. I won't attempt to deny that I was badly rattled, not because of the murder, because I had nothing to do with that, but because I'm not the sort of woman my dealings with Mr. Fletcher might have led you to suppose, and - and there could be nothing worse from my point of view than to have an indiscretion - like that - made public. The only idea in my head this morning was to admit as little as I need. You - you do understand that, don't you?"
He nodded. "Perfectly, Mrs. North. Please go on!"
"Yes. Well, since I saw you I've had time to think it over, and of course I realise that when it's a question of murder it would be terribly wrong of me to keep anything back. Moreover -' she smiled shyly across at him -'you were so very nice about it, not - not giving me away to my husband, that I feel sure I can trust you."
"I had better make it clear, Mrs. North, that while I have not the smallest desire to create any unnecessary unpleasantness in connection with this case, my consideration for your feelings cannot interfere with the execution of what I may decide to be my duty."
"Of course not; I quite appreciate that."
He looked at her. A few hours earlier she had been nervous to the point of distraction, but she had herself well in hand now. She met his eyes deprecatingly, but quite squarely, and was sure enough of herself to employ little feminine tricks to beguile him. She was a lovely woman; he wondered what the brain behind her soft blue eyes was evolving. She was probably playing a part, but so well that he could not be sure of it. It was easy to believe that she had concealed some of the truth earlier in the day; the reasons she put forward for having done so were quite credible; but it would not be so easy to know how much of whatever revelations were to come was to be believed.
He said impersonally: "Well, Mrs. North? What is it that you are going to tell me?"
"It is about what happened after I hid behind that bush, outside Mr. Fletcher's study. I said that as soon as the man who came up the path had entered the house I went away. Actually, I didn't go away."
His keen eyes narrowed slightly. "Indeed! Why not?"
She began to fidget a little with the clasp of her handbag. "You see, what I originally said about my interview with Mr. Fletcher wasn't true. It - it wasn't amicable. At least, not on my part. Mr. Fletcher, as you suggested this morning, Superintendent, did want something from me which I - which I was more than unwilling to give. I don't want to give you a false impression. Looking back, I feel sure I lost my head over the whole affair, and - and perhaps exaggerated things. Mr. Fletcher was using my IOUs against me, but in a playful sort of way. I expect it was only a bluff, for really he wasn't a bit like that. Only I was frightened, and behaved stupidly. I went round to his house that evening to try to persuade him to give me back my notes. Something he said made me lose my temper, and I walked out of the house in a rage. But while I was hiding behind the bush I realised that losing my temper wasn't going to help me. I thought perhaps I ought to have another shot at coaxing the notes out of Mr. Fletcher, though at the same time I rather dreaded the idea of going back into that room."
"Just a moment!" Hannasyde interrupted. "What happened in the study while you were hiding behind the bush?"
"I don't know. You remember I told you that I thought the man I saw closed the window? Well, that was true. I only heard a confused murmur of voices. I don't think he was in the room for more than six or seven minutes. It seemed longer to me, but it can't have been, because the clock in the hall began to strike ten when I finally left the house. But I haven't got to that yet. While I was still waiting, and not knowing quite what I ought to do next, the window of the study was pushed open, and both Mr. Fletcher and the other man came out. Mr. Fletcher had a light, carrying voice, and I distinctly heard him say: "A little mistake on your part. Permit me to show you the way out!"'
"And the other? Did he speak?"
"Not in my hearing. Mr. Fletcher said something else, but I couldn't catch what it was."
"Did he appear to be at all put-out?"
"No, but he was the sort of man who never showed when he was annoyed. He sounded rather mocking, I thought. I don't think there can have been a quarrel, because he just strolled down the path with the other man quite casually, not hurrying, or anything. In fact, I rather thought that perhaps the man had walked in by mistake."
"Oh! And then?"
"Well, you know that the path to the gate twists past some bushes? As soon as they had reached the bend, I slipped from behind the bush, and ran back to the study. I - I had a wild sort of hope that my notes might be in Mr. Fletcher's desk, and it seemed to me that here was my chance to get hold of them. Most of the drawers were unlocked, and I didn't bother about them. But the centre drawer had its key in it, and I happened to know that Mr. Fletcher used to keep it locked. I've seen him take the key out of his pocket to open it. I pulled it out, but I couldn't see my notes. Then I heard Mr. Fletcher coming up the path: he was whistling. I got a sudden panic, and instead of staying where I was I shut the drawer, and whisked myself over to the door. I just had time to open it very gingerly to make sure that no one was in the hall, before escaping that way. There wasn't anyone in sight, and I slipped into the hall before Mr. Fletcher had reached the study. That was when the clock began to strike. As a matter of fact, it gave me a dreadful start, because it's one of those tall-case clocks that make a whirring noise before they begin striking. I
walked down the hall to the front door, let myself out as quietly as I could, and went home by way of Vale Avenue, which, I expect you know, cuts across the top of my own road."
There was a short silence after she had finished speaking. Hannasyde moved a paper slightly on his desk. "Mrs. North, why have you told me this?" he asked.
"But - but isn't it obvious?" she said. "I couldn't let you think that a perfectly innocent man might have murdered Mr. Fletcher! You see, I know that Mr. Fletcher was alive when that man left the house."
"How long were you in the study, the second time?" he asked.
"I don't know, but not more than three minutes. Oh, less! I had only time to look hurriedly through that drawer before I heard Mr. Fletcher coming back."
"I see."
Something in his voice made her stiffen. "You don't believe me? But it's true: I can prove it's true!"
"Can you? How?"
She spread out her hands. "I wasn't wearing gloves. My finger-prints must have been on the door. Look, I'll show you!" She got up, and moved to the door, clasping the handle in her right hand, and laying her left hand on the panel above it. "You know how one eases a door open, if one's afraid of its making any noise? I remember putting my left hand on it, just like this."
"Have you any objection to having your finger-prints taken, Mrs. North?"
"No, none," she answered promptly. "I want you to have them taken. That's partly why I chose to see you here."
"Very well, but there are one or two questions I should like to ask you first."
She came back to her chair. "Why, certainly!" she said.
"You have said that Mr. Fletcher was using your IOUs against you. Does that mean that he was pressing for payment, or that he was threatening to lay them before you husband?"
"He did hint that my husband might be interested in them."
"Are you on good terms with your husband, Mrs. North?"
She gave an embarrassed little laugh. "Yes, of course. Perfectly."
"He had no cause to suspect you of any form of intimacy with Mr. Fletcher?"
"No. Oh no! I have always had my own friends, and my husband never interfered."
"He was not, then, jealous of your friendships with other men?"
"How old-fashioned of you, Superintendent! Of course not.
"That implies great confidence in you, Mrs. North." "Well, naturally… !"
"Yet in spite of this perfect understanding which you tell me existed between you, you were ready to steal your IOUs from Mr. Fletcher rather than allow the knowledge of your gambling debts to come to your husband's ears?"
She took a moment or two to answer, but replied at length quite composedly: "My husband very much dislikes gambling. I have always been rather extravagant, and I shrank from telling him about those debts."
"You were afraid of the consequences?"
"In a way, yes. It was lack of moral courage, really. If I had foreseen all that was going to happen -'
"You would have told him?"
"Yes," she said hesitantly.
"Have you told him, Mrs. North?"
"No. No, 1 -"
"Why not?"
"But you must see!" she exclaimed. "The whole thing has - has become so distorted! Now that Mr. Fletcher is dead there would be only my word that everything happened as it did. I mean, his getting hold of my IOUs, and my not having till then the least suspicion of his - well, of his wanting me to become his mistress! I know very well how incredible it sounds, and I've no doubt I was a perfect fool, but I didn't guess! But anyone just hearing my account would be bound to think there must have been more between Mr. Fletcher and me than there actually was. If I'd had the sense to tell my husband at once - as soon as I knew Mr. Fletcher had got possession of my IOUs - But I hadn't! I tried to get them back myself, which makes it look as though I were afraid of something coming out about me and Mr. Fletcher. Oh, can't you understand?"
"I think so," he replied. "The fact of the matter is that you were not speaking the truth when you told me that your husband did not object to your friendship with Mr. Fletcher. Isn't that so?"
"You are trying to make me say that he was jealous, but he wasn't! He certainly did not like Mr. Fletcher much: he thought he had rather a bad reputation with women. But -'Her throat contracted; she lifted her head and said with difficulty: "My husband does not care enough for me to be jealous of me, Superintendent."
His eyes dropped to the papers under his hand. He said quite gently: "He might perhaps be jealous of your good name, Mrs. North."
"I don't know."
"That is not consistent with the rest of your evidence," he pointed out. "You ask me to believe in a state of confidence existing between you and your husband that was unaccompanied by any great depth of affection, yet at the same time you wish me to believe that it is impossible for you to make a clean breast of the whole story to him."
She swallowed and said: "I do not wish to be dragged through the Divorce Courts, Superintendent."
He raised his eyes. "There is, then, so little confidence between you that you were afraid your husband might do that?"
"Yes," she said, doggedly returning his look.
"You had no fear that he might, instead, be - very angry - with the man who had put you in this unpleasant position?"
"None," she said flatly.
He allowed a pause to follow. When he spoke again, it was with an abruptness that startled her. "A few minutes ago you repeated words to me which you heard Mr. Fletcher utter when he passed down the garden-path with his visitor. How was it that you were able to hear these so clearly, and yet distinguish nothing that his companion said?"
"I have told you that Mr. Fletcher had a light, rather high-pitched voice. If you have ever been with a deaf person you must know that such a voice has a far greater carrying power than a low one."
Apparently he accepted this explanation, for he nodded, and got up. "Very well, Mrs. North. And now, if you are willing, your finger-prints."
A quarter of an hour later, when Helen had left the police station, he sat down again at his desk, and meditatively studied certain notes which he had jotted down on a slip of paper.
Evidence of PC Glass: At 10.02, man seen coming out of garden gate. Evidence of Helen North: At 9.58, approximately, unknown man escorted to garden mate by Fletcher.
He was still looking pensively at these scribblings when PC Glass entered the office to report that no trace of any weapon had been found in the garden at Greystones.
Hannasyde gave a grunt, but said as Glass turned towards the door: Just a moment. Are you certain that the time when you saw a man come out of the gardengate was two minutes after ten?"
"Yes, sir."
"It could not, for instance, have been two or three minutes before ten?"
"No, sir. The time, by my watch and the clock in the room, was 10.05 p.m. when I entered the study. Therefore I am doubly certain, for to reach that room from the point where I was standing was a matter of three minutes, not of seven."
Hannasyde nodded. "All right; that's all. Report to Sergeant Hemingway in the morning."
"Yes, sir," Glass replied, but added darkly: "He that hath a froward heart findeth no good."
"I daresay," said Hannasyde discouragingly.
"And he that hath a perverse tongue falleth into mischief," said Glass with a good deal of severity.
Whether this pessimistic utterance referred to himself or to the absent Sergeant, Hannasyde did not inquire. As Glass walked towards the door, the telephone-bell rang, and the voice of the constable on duty informed the Superintendent that Sergeant Hemingway was on the line.
The Sergeant sounded less gloomy than when Hannasyde had parted from him. "That you, sir?" he asked briskly. "Well, I've got something, though where it's going to lead us I don't see. Shall I come down?"
"No, I'm coming back to town; I'll see you there. Any luck with those prints?"
"Depends what you call luck, Super. Some of 'em belong to a bloke by the name of Charlie Carpenter."
"Carpenter?" repeated Hannasyde. "Who the dickens is he?"
"It's a long story - what you might call highly involved," replied the Sergeant.
"All right: reserve it. I'll be up in about half-anhour."
"Right you are, Chief. Give my love to Ichabod!" said the Sergeant.
Hannasyde grinned as he laid down the receiver, but refrained from delivering a message which, judging by Glass's forbidding countenance, would not be well received. He said kindly: "Well, Glass, you've been doing a lot of work on this case. You'll be glad to hear that some of the finger-prints have been identified."
Apparently he was wrong. "I hear, but I behold trouble and darkness," said Glass.
"The same might be said of all murder cases," replied Hannasyde tartly, and closed the interview.