An astonished silence greeted this casual announcement. Only the Inspector continued to steadily to watch Francis, without betraying either surprise or suspicion.
"Or, rather," added Francis, still in a conversational voice of unconcern, "I had them yesterday. Since then they have, to my regret, changed hands."
"This is very extraordinary," pronounced Mr. Tremlowe.
"Yes, that was what I thought," agreed Francis.
"I must ask you to explain a little more fully, pleas. Captain Billington-Smith," said Harding.
"Certainly," said Francis. "One hundred and thirty pounds was the precise sum I asked my uncle for on Monday morning." His glance flickered to Dinah's face. "No, my sweet, he did not give it to me. He was not in the mood. Geoffrey had been so tactless, hadn't he?"
"Was your need of that exact sum urgent, Captain Billington-Smith?" interposed Harding.
"Decidedly. A debt of honour. Isn't that delightfully old-world? But my cousin Geoffrey had been inconsiderate enough to enrage his father. It was stupid of me to approach him at that moment, of course. I quite thought that between us my cousin and I had queered the financial pitch for some little time to come. However, my uncle apparently relented sooner than I had expected. I received notes to the value of one hundred and thirty pounds yesterday morning."
"How did you receive them, Captain Billington-Smith?"
"Oh, most thankfully!" replied Francis.
"I am afraid you don't understand me," said Harding, a hint of steel in his pleasant voice. "I will put it quite plainly. Through what medium did you receive the notes?"
"The medium of the post," answered Francis.
"Registered post?"
"No, in a plain envelope."
"Did it not strike you as strange that your uncle should send such a considerable sum to you in that manner?"
"To tell you the truth, Inspector, I was too much taken up with the contents to think about the envelope."
Fay spoke, in a queer, harsh voice. "Arthur would never have done such a thing! I know he wouldn't. I am positive that he wouldn't."
"My very dear Fay," said Francis silkily, "you mustn't think I don't appreciate your motive, but in your anxiety to lead suspicion away from Stephen you mustn't overdo it, you know. You will only defeat your own ends."
"I have no ends," Fay said breathlessly. "If Arthur had sent you the money you wanted it would have been by cheque. He would not have taken it out of the household expenses."
Francis looked her over with bland contempt. "Don't let's beat about the bush, darling," he said. "And dont worry about my feelings either. Are you suggesting that I murdered Uncle for the sake of one hundred and thirty pounds?"
"I didn't say that! But I know he wouldn't have sent the money like that."
Harding moved over to the door, and opened it. "I think, Lady Billington-Smith, that it will be best if I talk to your nephew alone," he said.
Mr. Tremlowe picked up his satchel, and once more removed his spectacles. "Come, my dear lady," he said "The Inspector will do better without us." Fay lingered for a moment, her eyes on Francis. "I'm sorry, Francis. I didn't mean that. But it wasn't Arther who sent you those notes."
"Come on!" said Dinah briefly, and took her out.
Francis lit another cigarette, and flicked the dead match into the grate. He gave a slight laugh. "Poor little Fay!" he remarked.
Harding paid no heed to this, but said abruptly: "This plain envelope that you say the notes were sent in,
Captain Billington-Smith: was it addressed to you in your uncle's handwriting?"
"It was," said Francis.
"Did it contain anything but the notes? Any letter that you can produce?"
Francis inhaled a long breath of smoke before he answered. "Just a slip of paper telling me he had paid my debts for the last time. What an insight you must be getting into our family!"
"Did you keep this note?"
"I'm afraid I didn't. Thoughtless of me, but then I hadn't visualised the possibility of someone murdering the old man."
"By what post did you receive the notes?"
"By the first post. I imagine my uncle must have sent them off from Ralton when he went in to cash his cheque."
"In which case," said Harding, "it is rather surprising that the letter didn't reach you by the last post on Monday, isn't it?"
"Oh, is it?" replied Francis, mildly interested. "I expect you're right, but I've always found the post from Ralton wonderfully irregular."
"You are probably more familiar with it than I am," said Harding. "When were you first aware of your uncle's death?"
"Last night, when Tremlowe rang me up."
"At what hour was that?"
"I've no doubt he could tell you, if you really want to know. I should say it was at about half past ten but I may easily be wrong. Is it so important?"
"It is not very important," explained Harding, "but I am wondering why you did not acknowledge receipt of the money?"
Francis stretched out his hand towards the ash-tray and tapped his cigarette over it. "I said you were getting an insight into the family peculiarities," he said. "An inability to answer letters by return of post is one of them. Is there anything else I can tell you?"
"Several things, Captain Billington-Smith. At what time did you leave this house on Monday morning?"
"I'm led to wonder," said Francis reflectively, "whether you of the Police Force invariably time all your actions? I don't."
"In fact, you don't know when you left the house?"
"I haven't an idea. Somewhere round about eleven. I should imagine."
Harding stepped back to the the wall, and pressed the electric bell. Francis watched him with cynical amusement. "I admire your painstaking attention to detail Inspector."
"Yes," said Harding. "We have to be painstaking in my profession." He sat down in the swivel-chair, and drew out his pocket-book, and made a note in it. When the butler came in answer to the bell, he looked up. "Finch. do you know at what time Captain Billington-Smith left this house on Monday morning?"
Finch thought it over. "I sent Charles up to fetch down the Captain's suitcase," he mused. "That would have been at about half past ten. Now I come to think of it, it was half past ten, sir, for Charles was, as you might say, hanging around, waiting for the Captain, and he happened to pass the remark to me -" He stopped, and gave a deprecatory cough. "Well, sir, he drew my attention to the time, him having his regular work to get on with."
Harding looked at Francis. "Do you agree with that estimate of the time, Captain Billington-Smith?"
"I always agree on trivial points," replied Francis. "It saves trouble."
"That's all, then, thank you," said Harding, nodding dismissal to Finch. "Now that we have succeeded in establishing that fact, I want to know when you arrived in London, please."
"Hope seems to spring eternal in your breast. Inspector. I'm tempted to give you a probably erroneous but definite answer -just to please you."
"I shouldn't," said Harding. "Was it before lunch or after?"
"After. Early afternoon." He met the Sergeant's intent gaze, and raised one slender hand. "I know exactly what you are thinking, my very dear friend. We have met before, have we not? You are quite right: it would have been much more like me to have made London in time for lunch. Such was the general intention. Fate, however, one puncture, and one clogged jet decreed otherwise. The memory of that drive is still rather painful."
"Did you stop for lunch on the road?" asked Harding.
"I ate an extremely disgusting meal at the Stag, at Bramhurst."
"Bramhurst!" ejaculated the Sergeant. "Bramhurst's no more than a matter of forty miles from here, sir!"
"I am quite aware of that, thank you. You will probably cover the distance much quicker than I did. The garage that had my distinguished patronage, by the way, is the big one on the right as you drive down the main street. Not the one on the left, remember; they won't know anything about me there."
"How long did it take you to cover those forty miles?" inquired Harding.
"Do I subtract the time spent changing a flat tyre, and tinkering with the plugs?"
"From door to door, please."
"Two hours," said Francis, putting out the stub of his cigarette.
"Do you say that from conviction, Captain Billington-Smith, or to gratify me?"
"My felicitations, Inspector: you are becoming quite human. From conviction. I had the curiosity to look at my watch. I arrived at Bramhurst at half past twelve. I can even tell you what I had for lunch."
"I don't think I'll trouble you to do that, thank you. Are you staying here for the inquest, may I ask?"
"Oh, I think so, certainly. I shouldn't like to miss anything," said Francis.
"Then I won't keep you any longer now," said Harding, rising to his feet.
The Sergeant opened the door for Francis to pass out, and shut it carefully behind him. He waited for several seconds before he spoke, as though to be sure that Francis was out of earshot, and then he said emphatically: "That's the queerest story we've heard yet, sir and we haven't half heard some fishy ones. Him take two hours to cover forty miles? Yes, I wish I may live to see it. That's all I say, sir, I wish I may live to see it!"
"All right, Sergeant. We'll talk it over while we have lunch."
"Yes, sir," said the Sergeant, still brooding. "What's more, I don't believe he had a puncture nor a dirty jet either."
"Well, you'll be able to verify that," said Harding. "I'm going to send you off to Bramhurst this afternoon. Nor, let's go back to Ralton and have lunch."
Lunch at the Grange was a somewhat constrained meal. The presence of Mr. Lewis, whom Lola had commanded to remain, made it impossible for Geoffrey to tell his cousin that he believed not one word of his story, and even prevented Camilla from indulging in her usual free-spoken recapitulation of all that she had felt since she had heard of poor Sir Arthur's murder. Fay did not appear in the dining-room at all; Dinah was wrestling with inward giggles; Mr. Tremlowe ate and drank in almost complete silence, occasionally casting a cold and disapproving glance at the voluble Mr. Lewis; Halliday confined his conversation to an exchange of views on Disarmament with Stephen Guest; and Francis laid himself out to annoy every one by being extremely agreeable to Mr. Lewis.
Lola, who was still wearing the trailing black frock, and had brushed her hair in two sleek wings framing her face, seemed to be satisfied with the result of Mr. Lewis's visit. "It is seen that my picture must not go into the papers," she announced. "I am very reasonable, and I do not make further objection."
Mr. Lewis patted her hand. "That's a good girl," he approved. "You trust Sam's judgment, and you'll never go wrong.
"If I did not trust you, I should not any longer permit you to arrange my affairs," said Lola. "And that reminds me that after lunch you must tell this Inspector, who is, I think, not altogether a fool, that I will not be arrested for murdering Sir Arthur, since it is not after all good publicity, but on the contrary, very bad. Besides," she added thoughtfully, "you would not like me to be arrested, would you, Geoffrey?"
"I don't mind what you do," said Geoffrey. "I mean, no, of course I don't want you to be arrested, but it's your own affair, not mine."
"But certainly it is your affair, my dear Geoffrey," said Lola. "And you must let me tell you that I have been very patient, because I have much sympathy, but it becomes absurd, the way you are behaving."
Francis surveyed his cousin benignly. "How is love's young dream? You must tell me, Lola, what you would like me to give you for a wedding-present."
Mr. Lewis wagged his finger admonishingly. "Now now, now!" he begged. "I've been talking to Lola about this marriage racket, and believe me I haven't finished yet. Don't get me wrong: I'm not against marriage. I'm a believer in it. It's a good thing — in its place." He nodded affably at Geoffrey. "I know just how you feel, Mr. Billington-Smith, but you've got to look at it from Lola's angle. You want to call her yours, but you've got to remember -"
"No, I don't," interrupted Geoffrey, choking over a piece of salad.
"Well, well, that's what you say," said Mr. Lewis tolerantly, "but I guess we all know what a young husband gets like when he's won a peach like Lola here for his bride. Don't we, sir?" he added, taking Mr. Tremlowe suddenly into his confidence.
"I fear I cannot give an opinion," replied Mr. Tremlow icily.
Geoffrey had swallowed the salad by this time. "I may as well tell you, Mr. — er — Lewis, that my faith in women is absolutely shattered."
"Now, you don't want to take it like that," said Mr. Lewis kindly. "Lola's got a duty to herself and the public. She's young. She's a top-liner. Supposing she was to marry you, right now, at the height of her career? Do you know what it would be? It would be a downright sin!"
"Yes, I quite agree, and I've already told her I don't want to marry her."
Francis turned his head. "But how clever of you, Geoffrey!" he said. "All broken off, is it?"
"It is not in the least broken off!" said Lola firmly. "Naturally I could not marry him when he had not any money, for that would have been a great piece of folly, but now he will have a fortune, and we can be married at once. Let me remind you, my dear Geoffrey, that on Monday you wanted so much to marry me that you became like a madman."
"Don't distress yourself, dear Lola," said Francis. "I feel quite sure that if you wait till all these tiresome policemen have gone away, you know he will once more wish to marry you."
Geoffrey started up. "What the devil do you mean?" he shouted.
Dinah said fiercely: "Shut up, Francis! Can't you stop trying to make mischief, just for half an hour? Sit down, Geoffrey: don't be drawn, you ass!"
Geoffrey banged his fist on the table. "I insist on your telling me what you mean! If you're insinuating that I've broken it off with Lola simply to put the police off the scent — not that there is a scent, because there isn't -"
"Of course I shouldn't have said it," apologised Francis. "So thoughtless of me! I'm so sorry."
"I'm telling you it isn't so!" said Geoffrey, his voice rising.
"No, no, of course," replied Francis soothingly.
Camilla, who had been staring at Geoffrey as she slowly assimilated the significance of this interchange, said: "Well, I must say I hadn't thought of that, though I did think it funny that the engagement was off so suddenly. You needn't try and shut me up, Basil. It seems to me anyone can say what they like about anybody in this house except me, but nobody need think I'm going to sit by while the murder's being pushed on to my husband, because I'm not! I haven't said a word till now but I've seen the way you all look at me and Basil, jusi because we don't belong to your precious family."
There was a note of hysteria in her voice. Halliday tried to frown her down. It was Mr. Lewis who dealt with the situation. "What we need is a little glass of something to steady our nerves," he said, and picked up the port decanter, and poured some into her glass. "A charming lady like you doesn't want to let herself get worked up. Look at you, do they? Well, if you take a peep in the mirror maybe you'll guess why. "
"My face is my fortune, sir, she said," and a fortune it would make you if ever you were to think of going on the stage."
Camilla was momentarily appeased by this fulsome flattery, and at once started to tell Mr. Lewis of all the people who, having seen her act in amateur theatricals. had not been able to imagine why she did not take it up professionally.
Lola, who had been sitting in frowning silence. suddenly smiled. "I see!" she said. "Certainly it is a very good thing that we should pretend we do not at all want to be married. But why did you not explain it to me, my dear Geoffrey? It is quite ridiculous, quite unreasonable. for you to imagine that I must think of everything for myself, though naturally now it is shown to me I see that if we pretend that we do not any longer love each other the police will not think that it is you who have stabbed the General because he would not permit that we should be married."
"Oh, my God!" cried Geoffrey, and rushed from the room.
Guest folded up his napkin and put it into its ring. "I rather think we've sat over this meal long enough," he remarked, and got up. "Anyway, I'm through."
"Well, tell Fay I hope her headache's better," said Francis, selecting a nectarine from the dish in front of him.
Guest had reached the door, but he stopped and took a half-step back into the room. For one moment a very ugly light indeed shone in his eyes. Then he turned, and walked calmly out of the room.
"A strong man roused," commented Francis, peeling the nectarine. "Whatever can I have said to annoy him?"
At half past two Mr. Lewis took his departure, and both Lola and Camilla went upstairs to rest until tea-time. Stephen Guest was nowhere to be seen, and Halliday, realising that Mr. Tremlowe was waiting to read the General's Will, tactfully withdrew into the billiard-room.
The Will had been drawn up five years previously, and contained no surprises. Fay received an annuity on the condition that she did not marry again; Francis received 1,000; and with the exception of a number of small legacies to servants and pensioners, the rest of the General's property was left to his son Geoffrey.
Geoffrey was so much relieved to find that he had not been disinherited in favour of Francis that he became quite friendly towards his cousin, and having told him that he was sorry Sir Arthur had not left him a larger sum, he took him into the garden, and tried to impress upon him the true nature of his feelings towards Lola.
Dinah, gathering flowers on the other side of a clipped yew-hedge, heard him say earnestly: "Of course I realise you were only joking, but you know it might be frightfully serious for me if a story like that got about."
Gosh, what a fool he is! thought Miss Fawcett scornfully, and withdrew to the garden-hall with her basket.
Twenty minutes later she walked into the morning-room, carrying a bowl of sweet-peas, and found Inspector Harding standing in front of the bookcase wit I i a volume open in his hand. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she said. "I didn't know you were here. May I just put these on the table?"
"You can do anything you like," said Harding, with a smile. "It isn't my house, you know!"
"Well, it isn't mine either, if it comes to that. I thought I might be disturbing you." She glanced at the book in his hand. "Hullo, doing a crossword puzzle," she inquired.
Harding returned Chambers's Twentieth Century Dictionary to its place on the shelf. "No," he replied. "Not a crossword puzzle. Another sort of puzzle. What has been happening to annoy you?"
Dinah looked sharply up at him. "You don't miss much, do you, Mr. Harding?" she said.
"I only thought you looked a trifle cross," explained Harding.
She grinned. "Well, as a matter of fact I'm fed up to the back teeth," she announced. "At any moment now I should think we shall all turn into a set of lunatics, and start gibbering at you."
"Oh no, don't!" begged Harding. "Tell me what's fed you up instead."
Dinah sat down on the arm of a chair. "I'm not at all sure that you aren't being serpent-like," she said.
"However, I'm past caring, and the sooner you arrest somebody for this murder — preferably Francis — the better."
"What has he been doing?" inquired Harding.
"Making mischief," said Dinah viciously. "I say, did he pinch that money, do you think, or did Arthur really have remorse, and send it to him?"
Harding said, watching her: "I don't know. Are you anxious about it?"
"Anxious?" said Dinah.
"I thought," Harding said diffidently, "that you seemed to be on terms of great friendship with Captain Billington-Smith."
"Then I don't think much of you as a detective," said Dinah. "I can't stand Francis. How on earth did you come to make such a mistake?"
Inspector Harding apologised. "I don't think my judgment was likely to be entirely impartial on that point," he said in extenuation.
Since this was spoken almost inaudibly Miss Fawcett did not quite gather its import, and continued briskly: "In fact, if someone's got to be arrested for having killed Arthur I'd rather it was Francis than anyone, except perhaps Camilla, and I suppose you can't manage to shove it on to her?"
Inspector Harding allowed this aspersion on his integrity to pass without demur, and merely remarked that he thought it would be difficult.
"A pity," said Miss Fawcett regretfully. "She's a frightful cad. And if she comes oiling up to you, as I rather think she may, with a whole lot of tales about anybody else, don't encourage her! You can't place the slightest reliance on anything she says, and she'll only lead you on quite the wrong track."
"Thank you very much for warning me," said Harding meekly.
Miss Fawcett blushed. "You're laughing at me."
"I shouldn't dream of laughing at you," he said.
Miss Fawcett became aware suddenly that Inspector Harding was regarding her with a light in his grey eyes that was far from professional. She felt her cheeks groom rather warmer. "Well, I must go and do the rest of the flowers," she said, with great presence of mind, and got up. "I suppose there's nothing you want? You'll ring it there is, won't you?"
"No, I don't think I shall ring for it," said Harding, with a faint smile. He held open the door, and Miss Fawcett retired in good order.