Inspector Cook, who had had no very wide experience of murder cases, and who had been thrown badly out of his stride by his interview with the members of Wally Carter's family, was discovering in Peake, the butler, the first witness who gave his evidence fully, and to the point. Mrs. Peake, and the young housemaid he had soon dismissed, for the housemaid was too frightened to stop sobbing, and Mrs. Peake, a comfortably shaped woman who had, she informed him, been in the best service all her life, declined knowing anything beyond the realm of her kitchen.
But Peake gave the Inspector no trouble at all. He had been in his pantry, he said, at the time of Wally's death, but he admitted without any hesitation that he could produce no proof of this statement. When he was asked if he knew of anyone having a grudge against Wally, he looked down his thin nose, and replied primly that he believed a young man calling himself Baker had considerable cause to bear Wally a grudge.
"Yes, I want to know more about that young fellow," said the Inspector. "I understand he came up to the house to see Mr. Carter?"
"He came twice," said Peake. "Upon the first occasion, which was early yesterday afternoon, Miss Vicky interviewed him. I could not say what took place between them, I'm sure. He returned about half past nine in the evening, and although I informed him that Mr. Carter was engaged with guests, he refused to withdraw. He came upon a motor bicycle on both occasions. He appeared to me to be a very violent young man."
"Ah, violent, was he? What makes you think that?"
"He uttered threats of a mysterious nature, and when I told him to be off he put his foot down so that I was unable to shut the door."
"What sort of threats?"
"I should not like to say," replied Peake. "I paid very little heed to him, seeing that he was quite a common person, and wearing one of those red ties. I recall that he said Mr. Carter would be sorry if he refused to see him, besides ranting a great deal about his sister's honour, in a very vulgar way."
"Oh! Did Mr. Carter see him?"
"Mr. Carter was with him in the library for about half an hour."
"Did you happen to hear what was said?" asked the Inspector.
"Certainly not," replied Peake frigidly.
"Any sounds of altercation?"
"Upon my way through the hall, I noticed that Baker's voice was unbecomingly raised," admitted Peake.
"What about today? Has he been here again?"
"He has not been here to my knowledge."
"And is he the only person you know of who might have wanted to murder Mr. Carter?"
"Oh no, Inspector!" said Peake calmly.
The Inspector looked narrowly at him. "Come on, then: out with it! What other enemies had he got?"
"There is Mr. Steel, for one," answered Peake.
"Do you mean Mr. Steel of Oaklands Farm?"
"That's right, Inspector."
"What had he got against Mr. Carter?"
"It is common knowledge that Mr. Steel is greatly attached to Mrs. Carter."
"Do you mean he's in love with her?"
"That is the general opinion, Inspector. Mr. Steel is not one to hide his feelings, and I have more than once seen him look at Mr. Carter in a way which gave me quite a turn." He coughed behind his hand. "I wouldn't want to conceal anything from you, Inspector, and I am bound to say that Mr. Carter did not behave to Mrs. Carter as he should. There have been some very regrettable incidents. One could not altogether blame Mr. Steel for feeling as he did. We have thought lately in the servants' hall, that matters were approaching what one might call a crisis. Mr. Steel called to see Mrs. Carter this morning, at a time when she was greatly upset by a quarrel with Mr. Carter. When Mr. Steel left, I chanced to be within earshot, and I could not but hear what he said to Miss Cliffe in the hall."
"What was that?"
"I'm sure I don't wish to say anything that might give you a wrong impression, Inspector. Mr. Steel was in a black rage, and he told Miss Cliffe he would like to break Mr. Carter's neck."
"Did he see Mr. Carter this morning?"
"No, Inspector. He left the house saying he could not bring himself to sit at table with Mr. Carter. He told Miss Cliffe he had been in love with Mrs. Carter ever since he had first known her."
"Nice goings on in this house!" muttered the Inspector. "What about this Prince? What's he doing here?"
"Prince Varasashvili," replied Peake, "is a friend of Mrs. Carter. She met him at Antibes."
"Oh, one of those, is he?" said the Inspector knowingly.
"An impoverished foreign nobleman, I understand, Inspector. Very much the ladies' man. We have noticed that Mrs. Carter seems to be greatly taken with him."
"What about Mr. Carter?"
"Mr. Carter was not in favour of the Prince's visit. Mr. Carter went so far as to say to me, when he was slightly intoxicated, that it was his belief the Prince was after his wife's money."
,He did, did he? What about Mrs. Carter's daughter?
It wouldn't by any chance be her he's after?"
"I fancy not, Inspector."
"What kind of a girl is this Miss Fanshawe?"
"Miss Vicky, Inspector, is a very unexpected young lady. One never knows what she will be at next, in a manner of speaking. She is devoted to Mrs. Carter."
"And the other one?"
"Miss Cliffe is a nice young lady. She was Mr. Carter's ward, and Mr. Carter did tell me that he should leave all his money to her."
"Well, that wasn't much, by all accounts."
"Mr. Carter, Inspector, was expecting to come into a great deal of money. He never made any secret of that. He has a rich aunt, a very old lady, I understand, who has been confined in a private lunatic asylum for many years."
"From what I've seen of this house, that's one thing that doesn't surprise me!" said the Inspector.
He put one or two more questions to the butler, but soon found that Peake had told him all he knew. He requested him to summon Miss Cliffe to the morningroom, and sat digesting the information he had acquired until Mary came in.
"You want to speak to me, Inspector?"
"If you please, miss," said the Inspector, indicating a chair.
She sat down on it. She was looking a little pale, and there was an anxious expression in her eyes which did not escape the Inspector.
"Now, miss! I understand that Mr. Robert Steel called here this morning to see Mrs. Carter. Is that a fact?"
"Yes."
"You didn't mention it to me before. How was that?"
"I didn't think it was important. Mr. Steel is a close friend, and often drops in to see us."
"Was Mr. Steel a close friend of Mr. Carter's, miss?"
She hesitated. "I should call him a friend of the house."
"Is it not a fact that he is Mrs. Carter's friend?"
"He is more her friend than Mr. Carter's. But he is also a friend of mine."
"We'll let that pass, miss. Had you no reason to suppose that Mr. Steel might feel more than friendly towards Mrs. Carter?"
"You had better ask him," said Mary stiffly.
"I shall do so, miss, make no mistake about that! But I'm asking you now: when he was here this morning did Mr. Steel give you any reason to suppose that he was feeling very un-friendly towards Mr. Carter?"
"Mr. Steel and Mr. Carter never hit it off very well," she replied evasively.
"No, miss? Why was that?"
"I don't know. They are very different types."
"I put it to you, miss, that you know very well that Mr. Steel is in love with Mrs. Carter."
"Perhaps," Mary said. "It wouldn't be surprising if he were.
"My information is that Mr. Steel told you this morning that he had been in love with Mrs. Carter ever since he first knew her. Is that correct?"
Though she had mistrusted Peake, she had not suspected that he had overheard her conversation with Steel. Colour rushed into her cheeks; she felt the ground sliding from under her feet; and could only answer: "Yes. He did say so."
"Did he also tell you that he would like to break Mr. Carter's neck?"
"I don't know. I can't remember."
"Come, come, miss! Don't you think you would remember if anyone had made a threat like that?"
"Oh, it wasn't a threat!" Mary said unguardedly. "Mr. Steel was very angry with Mr. Carter for upsetting his wife, and people do say stupid things when they're angry."
"And it didn't seem important to you, in view of what has happened?"
"No, not in the least."
"You weren't surprised that Mr. Steel should say such a thing?"
"No. He has rather a quick temper," She broke off, aghast at her own disclosures.
"He has a quick temper, has he? Perhaps he has said very much the same sort of thing before about what he'd like to do to Mr. Carter?"
"No, indeed he hasn't!"
"Oh? And yet you weren't surprised when he said it today?"
"No. I can't explain, but surely you know how one says extravagant things one doesn't really mean when one is angry?"
The Inspector ignored this, and as he seemed to have no more questions to ask, Mary rose to her feet. "If that's all ? You wanted to see Prince Varasashvili. He came back about ten minutes ago. Shall I ask him to come in here?"
"Thank you, miss, if you'll be so good."
The Inspector's first view of the Prince did not predispose him in his favour. The Prince's sleek black hair, with its ordered waves, his brilliant smile, and his accentuated waist-line, filled the Inspector, a plain man, with vague repulsion. He thought that the Prince looked just the type of good-for-nothing lizard whom you would expect to find hanging round a rich woman like Ermyntrude Carter.
The Prince came in without hesitation, and made a gesture with his expressive hands. "You are the Inspector of Police? You desire to interrogate me? I understand perfectly. This terrible affair! You will forgive me that I find myself so startled, so very-much shocked, I can find no words! Ah, my poor hostess!"
"Yes, indeed, sir," said the Inspector woodenly. "Very bad business. May I have your full name and address, please?"
"My address!" said the Prince, with one of his mournful smiles. "Alas, I have no longer an address to call my own since my country has been in the hands of my enemies. My name is Alexis Feodor Gregorovitch Varasashvili. I am absolutely at your service."
The Inspector drew a breath, and requested him to spell it. When he had succeeded in transcribing the name correctly in his notebook, he said that he understood that the Prince was a friend of Mrs. Carter.
"She does me the honour of saying so," bowed the Prince.
"Have you been acquainted with her for long?"
"No, for I met her a few months ago only, at Antibes." "And Mr. Carter, too?"
"Ah no, Mr. Carter did not accompany his wife! I met Mr. Carter for the first time on Friday, when I arrived to spend the week-end here. Little did I think then it would end in such tragedy!"
"No, sir. I understand that you were one of the last people to see Mr. Carter before he set out for the Dower House this afternoon?"
"Is it so indeed? That I did not know, for I myself was gone from the house before he left it. I asked of him the way to Dr Chester's house. Miss Cliffe, I think, was present. Yes, I am sure. I left her with him."
"At what time would that have been, sir?"
The Prince shook his head. "I am sorry. I cannot tell you. It was certainly more than half past four, but I cannot be precise, for I had not the occasion to look at my watch."
"What did you do when you left the house, sir?"
"But naturally I walked to the garage. I should explain, perhaps, that Miss Fanshawe was so very kind as to lend me her car. I drove myself, therefore, to the doctor's house."
"Did you happen to notice what the time was when you arrived there?"
The smile flashed out again. "It is, I see, very fortunate for me that I can say yes, Inspector. Mr. Carter told me it was impossible that I should mistake the house, and this I found was entirely true. I did, in fact, arrive at five minutes to five. The doctor was not in: he had been called out, his housekeeper told me. But in perhaps ten minutes he came back, and we had tea together, and he showed me his relics, until it was time for him to go to his surgery. Then I motored back here, to find - what horror!"
"Yes, indeed, sir, I'm sure. I take it you can prove what you've just told me? That you reached the doctor's house at five minutes to five?"
The Prince wrinkled his brow. "Of course it is most necessary. Surely the good woman. Dr Chester's housekeeper, would know? Yes, for we spoke of the time, since I had arrived a little before I was expected."
The Inspector nodded. "Very good, sir. Were you a member of the shooting-party Mr. Carter went on yesterday?"
"Certainly, yes."
"I understand there was some sort of an accident, sir?"
The Prince flung up his hands. "Oh no, no, no! That is to exaggerate, I assure you! There was no accident, but only a great piece of folly, I am persuaded."
"On whose part, sir?"
"I must not conceal from you that it was the carelessness of Mr. Carter that so nearly made an accident. You have heard, perhaps, that Mr. Carter spoke of being fired at, in particular pointing to Mr. Steel in a manner not at all polite, and quite absurd also! I do not know whether there was some misunderstanding about Mr. Carter's post: it is certain that I, and Mr. Steel, and Dr Chester, thought he was to have stood in a certain place. It is possible that Mr. Carter mistook, though Mr. Steel, and indeed the good doctor too, declared it was not so, but merely that he had moved from his original stand. I do not know, but that Mr. Steel should shoot with deliberation at his host I find not at all probable."
"So Mr. Carter thought it was Mr. Steel who shot at him, sir? What made him pick on him rather than you, or the doctor, who, I understand, might as easily have done it?"
"Ah no, not as easily!" protested the Prince. "For both of us, it would have been a more difficult shot. But it is a piece of nonsense! It is not worth discussing."
"That's as may be, sir, and for me to judge. What exactly did Mr. Carter say about this incident?"
"You ask me to recall absurdities, Inspector. Mr. Carter was one who talked a great deal, without much sense. I did not concern myself, for when a man talks in the style of the theatre about those who desire his death, it is not important, but on the contrary, quite tiresome. For me, I did not find that Mr. Carter's dislike of Mr. Steel was at all sensible."
"Did you form any opinion why Mr. Carter should have thought Mr. Steel wanted him put away?"
The Prince studied his polished finger-nails for a moment in silence. Then he looked up rather deprecatingly. "Inspector, you ask of me a very delicate question. I must tell you that I am not familiar with these people. I speak as an onlooker: I am nothing but a weekend guest here. But it is plain to me that Mr. Steel admires excessively Mrs. Carter. One understands in part the jealousy of Mr. Carter. I have perhaps said too much. You will not regard it. Is there more that you would ask of me?"
"That'll be all for the present, sir. Were you meaning to go back to London tomorrow? Because if so, I must trouble you '
"Ah, not now!" the Prince said. "If I can be of use to Mrs. Carter, who is left without a protector, be assured that I shall remain! She asks me, in fact."
"No doubt that would be best, sir," agreed the Inspector.
He left the house, shortly after his interview with the Prince, feeling that he had amassed sufficient evidence to keep him busy for some time. Returning to the Dower House, he was met in the drive by the Sergeant he had left in charge of investigations there. The Sergeant greeted him with an air of considerable satisfaction. "We've got the gun, sir!" he said.
"Got the gun, have you? Where did. you find it?"
"Down there in the shrubbery," replied the Sergeant, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Wright's been over it for fingerprints, but there aren't any. That makes it murder all right, I reckon. Not a doubt but that the bloke who did this took his shot, dropped the gun, and slipped off through them bushes to the road. Nice, neat job, if you ask me."
"Find any footprints?"
"No, sir. Ground's baked hard, you know. I'll show you."
He led the Inspector to the lawn that ran down to the stream, but instead of going to the bridge, he plunged into the thicket at a point where a clump of azaleas jutted out beyond the dark mass of rhododendrons. Worming his way between the bushes, and holding back stray branches so that his superior's face should not be scratched by them, he conducted him to a place in the centre of the shrubbery where the bushes grew less thickly. "This is where I found the rifle," he said. "Now, you take a look, sir! Beautiful, easy shot, wouldn't it be?"
The Inspector dropped on to his knee, and found that he was looking down at the bridge some twenty yards away, and clearly visible between an azalea and a towering rhododendron. "Yes," he said slowly. "Easy enough. He must have stayed quiet, though, till Mr. White, and the other two, had run down to the bridge, or they'd have heard him."
"That's all right," replied the Sergeant. "Plenty of time for him to make his getaway while they was on the bridge. I reckon this is the way he went." He pushed on through the thicket, demonstrating to his chief, as he went, why the unknown murderer must, in his opinion, have struck up towards the carriage-drive, which was at the side of the house. "The stream bends right round, as you know, sir. There's a bit of a pool on the other side of that bank, so it stands to reason he didn't go that way. No, the way I look at it is, he fired his shot, waited till the, people by the house had run down to the bridge, dropped the rifle, and slunk off the way he came, either taking a chance of being seen from the house, and coming out on the drive just by the gate, or, more likely, climbing over the wall and walking off down the road. Anyone could get over that wall, as you'll see for yourself in a minute, sir."
"Hold on a moment! I'll take a look at the lie of the land," said the Inspector, surmounting the slight, sandy bank which the Sergeant had pointed out to him.
The stream, taking a bend to the south, widened, below the bank, into a pool, narrowed again, and meandered on until it ran under a bridge in the highway not far from one of the drive-gates. The Inspector gazed at the pool in ruminative silence until the Sergeant, unable to discover what was holding his interest, ventured to ask him.
"I was thinking," said the Inspector, "that no one could jump over that pool."
"Well, they wouldn't want to, would they?" said the Sergeant, a little impatiently. "The getaway must have been the way I told you, sir. Stands to reason!"
"Nor," said the Inspector, "could they jump the stream above it without being seen by anyone standing on the bridge between the two houses."
"But, sir '
Just a moment, if you please!" said the Inspector, moving along the bank. "Didn't happen to notice that below the pool the stream's a sight narrower, did you?"
"Well, I'm bound to say I don't get what you're after, sir!" protested the Sergeant. "Are you telling me the murderer got away through the Palings' grounds?"
"I'm not telling you anything as yet," replied the Inspector. "I'm not leaving a possibility out of my calculations, either."
The Sergeant looked at the stream running below him, and then glanced across at the opposite bank. "I suppose it would be easy enough to jump," he said. "I'd expect to find a footmark or so, though. Ground's bound to be soft, not to say boggy, down by the water."
"Take a look," said the Inspector briefly, and went off to explore the other way of escape.
The Sergeant rejoined him later by the police-car in the drive. There was mud on his boots, and he was looking rather sulky. "I didn't find any trace of footmarks," he said.
"Ah well!" replied the Inspector. "Maybe I'm wrong. Nothing more to be done here: we'll get back to the station."
As the police-car reached the gate, it had to wait to allow another car, on the road, to go past. The Sergeant remarked that it was Dr Chester's Rover. "Dashing off to Palings, I wouldn't wonder. By all accounts, Mrs. Carter sends for him to hold her hand every time her little finger aches. I don't envy him his job today."
"No," agreed the Inspector. "Nor me."
"It wasn't him called in when Carter was shot, was it?"
"No. Hinchcliffe. Chester was out on a case."
"I'll bet he's thanking his stars for it!" said the Sergeant. "Fancy having to tell Mrs. C. how he found her husband!"
The Sergeant was quite right in thinking that the car was the doctor's, and that the doctor was bound for Palings. A few minutes later he drew up outside the porch, and got out, stripping off the gloves he wore for driving, and tossing them into the car. The front door was still standing open, and he walked into the hall, encountering there Mary, who had just come down the stairs. She was looking pale, and worried, but her eyes lit up when she saw Chester, and she went quickly towards him, holding out her hands.
"Oh, Maurice, I'm so glad you've come!"
He took her hands, holding them firmly in his for a moment. "I couldn't come sooner. I was in the middle of my surgery when Hinchcliffe rang up to tell me. How's Ermyntrude?"
"Awful!" said Mary, with a shudder. "Lyceum stage. It's no use frowning at me. You'll see."
He looked critically at her. "You look as though you're in need of my professional services yourself. I prescribe a stiff whisky-and-soda. See you take it!"
"It's not such a bad idea," she admitted. "I don't seem to have had time to collect myself. I can't even quite grasp what's happened. It doesn't seem, possible!"
"What did happen?" he asked. "Hinchcliffe merely told me that White sent for him, and that he found Carter dead - shot on the bridge. Is anything known?"
"No, nothing. There are only the most nightmarish possibilities. We had a Police Inspector here until a short time ago. It was - pretty ghastly. I always thought I was a level-headed sort of person, but I didn't seem able to think things out a bit, and I'm afraid I made a perfect fool of myself. Hugh keeps on drumming it into me that I must tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, but you know what a hopelessly wrong impression one can give by telling some truths!"
"Hugh Dering? Is he here?"
"No, not now. He.was here when it happened, and he stayed, like the angel he is, until the Inspector left. Do you want to see Ermyntrude?"
"Yes, where is she?"
"Receiving consolation from the Prince in the drawing-room," she replied.
"That fellow!" Chester said, in a tone of disgust. "All right, show me in!"
Ermyntrude was once more reclining on a couch, but by this time she had put on her corsets again, and, following her daughter's example, a black tea-gown. A shaded lamp stood behind the couch, and beside her the Prince sat, upon a low chair, holding one of her hands in his, and talking to her in his soft, caressing way. When Mary opened the door, Ermyntrude sighed: "Oh, can't I be left in peace ever?" But when she saw Chester walk in, she exclaimed in a much more robust tone: "Oh, Maurice, if it's not you! Oh, come in, come in! You're the very person I want!"
The Prince got up. If he was annoyed, he did not show it, but smiled and bowed, and said that he gladly relinquished his place to the doctor.
Ermyntrude sat up, extending her hand towards Chester. "Oh, Maurice, I wish it had been you!" she said. "Somehow it seems to make it worse, Hinchcliffe being sent for, for you know I've never liked him, nor poor Wally either!"
Chester took her hand, but glanced over his shoulder, addressing himself impartially both to Mary and to the Prince. "Too many people in this room," he said. "Prince, take Miss Cliffe into the dining-room, and give her a whisky-and-soda, will you? See she drinks it, too."
"But with the greatest pleasure on earth!" the Prince said. "We have indeed neglected Miss Cliffe, who is all the time so thoughtful for the welfare of others!"
He held open the door for Mary, but instead of permitting her to go with him to the dining-room, he insisted on her sitting down in one of the big leather armchairs that stood in the hall, while he went to mix a drink for her.
He had just brought it to her when Vicky wandered downstairs. "Oh, hallo! Bottle party?" she inquired.
"Poor Miss Cliffe is exhausted," explained the Prince. "I am commanded by Dr Chester to give her whisky, and to be sure she drinks it. I warn you, I shall obey my orders, Miss Cliffe, so do not make a face at your whisky! I am here to make myself useful, and this is my first task."
Mary pressed her hand to her forehead. "Vicky, what about dinner?" she asked. "It must be nearly time. I hope Mrs. Peake hasn't taken it into her head that it won't be wanted."
"Ah no, for Peake is even now setting the table!" the Prince assured her. He smiled at Vicky. "Sit down, duchinka: you have had so great a shock! You are pale, my little one; you, too, need Alexis to take care of you, I think."
"Not if it means whisky," replied Vicky. "I've already had three cocktails, so I shouldn't think whisky would agree with me much. Is Maurice here, Mary?"
"Yes, with your mother."
"Oh, good! Perhaps he'll make her go to bed." She turned to the Prince, and said prettily: "We're so sorry this should have happened during your visit, Alexis. I'm afraid you'll take a perfectly ghoulish memory of Palings away with you tomorrow."
"I do not go tomorrow," he replied. "You do not suppose that I would run from you when you are in such trouble! No, no, while that poor Trudinka has need of me, I stay!"
"Oh, Alexis, I do think that's so sweet and sacrificing of you!" said Vicky. "Only, do you feel it's wise of you?"
"Wise of me? I do not understand!"
"I rather suspect that the police will think it's a bit odd of you. That Inspector asked the most unnerving questions about you, and he's so dumb that I wouldn't be at all surprised if he's cast you for the part of the murderer."
"But it is ridiculous!" exclaimed the Prince. "You are joking, surely!"
"Oh, Alexis, joking at such a time! Oh, how could you think I'd be so frightful?"
"You are overwrought, then. As for your Police Inspector, I snap my fingers at him, so! Do not trouble your so lovely little head on my account, my Vicky!"
A telephone-bell had rung in the distance a minute or two before, and Peake now came into the hall to tell Mary that Mr. Steel wished to speak to her.
She pulled herself out of her chair. "All right, Peake; I'll take it in the library," she said.
Steel's voice, at the other end of the wire, sounded deeper even than usual. He said: "That you, Mary? I've just heard the most incredible It isn't true, is it?"
"If you mean Wally's death, yes, it's true."
There was a slight pause. "Mary, you don't mean he was actually murdered, do you?"
"I'm afraid so. How did you hear of it?"
"One of my men's just come in with the news. He says it's all over the village. Good God, I couldn't believe it! Mary, how's Ermyntrude?"
"She's upset, naturally. We hope to get her to bed."
"I'll come over at once. We can't talk on the telephone."
"Oh no, you will not come over!" said Mary. "Dr Chester's with her now, and she doesn't want any visitors tonight. Besides, the more you stay out of this the better it'll be, Robert. Peake heard what you said to me this morning, and he told the police."
"Hell, what do you think I care for that?"
"I don't know, and I'm past minding, but if you come over here you won't see Aunt Ermy, I promise you."
There was another pause. "All right. I'll wait till the morning. Tell her I rang up, won't you?"
"Oh yes, I'll tell her!" said Mary, glancing round as the door opened, and Vicky came into the room. "Sorry, I can't stay any longer. Good-bye!" She put down the receiver. "What have you done with the Prince, Vicky? He hasn't gone back into the drawing-room, has he?"
"No, upstairs. That was one time I didn't strike on the box, wasn't it?"
"Did you think you were going to?"
"Well, I thought there was just a chance. Did Robert ring up to condole?"
"He rang up to know if it was true. He wanted to come round, but I stopped him."
Vicky lit a cigarette, and flicked the match into the hearth. "Oh, I think you were frightfully right! I shouldn't be at all taken aback if we discovered he did it, would you?"
"Don't!" implored Mary. "Yes, of course I should. It isn't possible!"
"Darling, I'm simply dripping with sympathy for you, but don't suddenly be a dewy innocent, because I don't feel I can bear it. If Percy didn't do it, Alexis or Robert must have. There isn't anybody else."
"Vicky, don't say things like that! You don't know: there may have been others we've never heard of. What would you think if Robert or the Prince said it must be you, because you happened to be in the shrubbery at the time?"
Vicky blew a cloud of smoke. "But, Mary, dear pet, how could I possibly? I practically never hit anything when I take a gun out."
"That isn't the impression you generally try to put across," said Mary dryly. "Anyone listening to you would imagine you were a pretty good shot."
"Yes, but when I give that impression, I'm just putting on an act," explained Vicky. "Actually, I'm rather a lousy shot, I think."
"I'll remember to tell the Inspector so, if he asks me," promised Mary.