Inspector Harding was listening to Geoffrey, voluble and slightly injured. "Of course I know you've got to make inquiries," Geoffrey said, "but I do hope you'll be as quick as you can, because it's frightfully rotten for my stepmother — I mean, she's had a simply ghastly shock, you know — we both have, if it comes to that — and having the house crammed full of visitors makes it all absolutely foul for us. And naturally they don't want to hang about here either. Personally, I can't see -"
"I shall be as quick as I can be, Mr. Billington-Smith," said Harding, evidently feeling that this rambling harangue might go on indefinitely. "I should like first to inspect the study, please, and then perhaps you will let your butler show me the other rooms on this floor."
"What on earth do you want to see the other room for?" asked Geoffrey. "Of course, you can if you like, but I must say I don't quite see -"
"Thank you," said Harding. "I won't keep you am longer now, Mr. Billington-Smith." He turned to Finch, still standing by the door. "Will you take me to the study, please?"
"Yes, show the Inspector the way, will you, Finch?" said Geoffrey, "If you want me just tell Finch, Inspector — not that I can be much use to you, because I didn't happen to be here when my father was murdered, but if you do want me -"
"I'll ask Finch to fetch you if I do," said Harding, and he followed the butler out into the hall.
The constable on duty in the study rose from a chair against the wall when the door was opened, and brightened perceptibly when he saw the Sergeant. It was a dull job, keeping guard on an empty room.
The Sergeant told him he could go and wait outside, and then fixed his gaze on the Inspector, standing still by the desk, looking about him.
"Nothing has been moved, Sergeant, I take it?"
"Nothing but what the Superintendent showed you down at the station," said the Sergeant.
"I see." Harding turned. Just a minute before you go, Finch. When you entered this room with Mr. Guest and Mr. Halliday, were these windows shut, or open?"
"The front windows were open, sir. Sir Arthur never had the side window open when he sat here. I thought it best to shut them when we locked the room up, in case of anyone trying to come in for any purpose."
"Had you any reason to think that someone might wish to come into the room?"
The butler hesitated. "Not then, sir — in a manner of speaking."
"But later you had?"
"I don't know that I would go so far as to say that, sir, but it did seem to me that Mr. Halliday was not best pleased."
"What made you think that?" asked Harding.
"Well, sir, I don't know that I could give any definate reason. Mr. Halliday seemed anxious to get the key in his own hands, to my way of thinking."
Harding looked consideringly at him for a moment "Mr. Guest, however, agreed with you that the room should be shut up?"
"Oh yes, sir. It was Mr. Guest who suggested the key should be put into Dr Raymond's charge."
"And eventually you all left the room together?"
"Yes, sir."
"Who did actually lock the door?"
"Mr. Guest, sir. He gave the key to Dr Raymond at once."
"Did he or you ascertain that the door was locked?"
"Yes, sir, I did," replied Finch instantly.
"And there was no possibility that anyone could have unlocked it with any other key than the one belonging to it?"
"No, sir, none. Sir Arthur had all the locks made different when he built the house."
"I see." Harding made a note in his pocket-book. "Will you now arrange the room exactly as you found it when you first came in after the murder, please?"
"You mean the windows, sir? Everything else is just as it was."
"Yes, the windows."
The butler moved over to the front windows, pulled back the curtains and drew the bolts, fixing the windows wide. Then he walked over to the other one and parted the net curtains a little way. "They were like that, sir."
"Thank you. Before you go, I should like you to answer one or two questions. First, where did Sir Arthur keep the dagger he used as a paper-knife?"
"Always on the desk, sir."
"'There should be a sheath, I think, matching the handle. I don't see it here?"
"No, sir, the sheath was lost some years ago, when Sir Arthur had the knife abroad with him."
"Ah! I wondered about that." Harding drew a sheaf of papers from his breast-pocket, and ran through them till he found the one he wanted. "You have said that at five minutes past twelve on Monday you overheard voices in this room, one of which you identified as Mr. Halliday's."
"Yes, sir."
"You had no doubt that it was Mr. Halliday's voice?"
"No, sir, none. Mr. Halliday has what I might call a very distinctive voice."
"Did you overhear anything of what was said?"
"No, sir. The doors are very thick in this house, as you can see, and Sir Arthur was speaking at the same time."
"Angrily?"
"More what one would call blustering, sir. It was Mr. Halliday who was picking the quarrel."
Harding looked up from his notes. "You could not distinguish what was said, and yet you can positively assert that it was Mr. Halliday who picked the quarrel. Isn't that rather curious?"
"Perhaps I should not have said quite that, sir. I assumed it was Mr. Halliday who was angry, on account that Sir Arthur's partiality for Mrs. Halliday."
"Oh. Was this partiality very marked?"
"Very marked, sir. If I may say so, I had expected something in the nature of a quarrel to occur, Mr. Halliday not relishing Sir Arthur's attentions to Mrs. Halliday."
"You formed the impression that Mr. Halliday was jealous?"
"Oh yes, sir, very much so. Mr. Halliday was always watching Mrs. Halliday and Sir Arthur. It is not my place to say so, but Mrs. Halliday was what I should call flirtatious, leading Sir Arthur on. It was easy to see that Mr. Halliday did not like it."
Harding nodded, and resumed his perusal of the butler's original statement. "You did not see Mr. Halliday leave the study. Where did you go when you left the hall?"
"I went to my pantry, sir, till Mrs. Twining came."
"How long would that be?"
The butler reflected. "Well, sir, not more than five minutes, I should say, before the front door bell rang."
"When you went to admit Mrs. Twining did you still hear voices in the study?"
"No, sir, not a sound."
"And when you had shown Mrs. Twining on to the terrace — where did you go then?"
"Pardon me, sir, but I did not show Mrs. Twining on to the terrace," said Finch. "Mrs. Twining said that she would announce herself."
"Was that usual?"
"In Mrs. Twining's case, quite usual, sir. Mrs. Twining was a very old friend of Sir Arthur's. She had been motoring in an open car, and she wished to tidy her hair before going on to the terrace. There is a mirror in the hall, as you will notice, sir. Mrs. Twining went to look at herself in it, and told me I need not wait."
"So that you did not see her go out on to the terrace?"
"No, sir, I went straight back to my pantry to mix the cocktails."
"Was anyone else in the pantry?"
The butler considered for a moment. "I rather fancy that Charles — the footman, sir — was, as one might put it, between the pantry and the dining-room, laying the table for lunch. But I could not be sure on that point. When the front door bell rang again — it would be only a few minutes later, for I was in the act of cutting the orange for the cocktails — I went back to the hall."
"Again you heard no sound from the study?"
"No, sir, it was quite quiet."
"Who had rung the front door bell?"
"Mrs. Chudleigh, sir — the Vicar's wife. I showed her on to the terrace, and then went back to my pantry."
"Did you go into the hall again after that?"
"Not until I took the cocktail tray out, sir. That would be just after half past twelve, on account of my being interrupted while mixing the cocktails, and so being a few minutes later than I should otherwise have been."
"And you did not pass through the hall again until one o'clock, when you met Mr. Guest and Mr. Halliday on their way to the study?"
"No, sir. I was busy preparing for luncheon."
"In the dining-room?"
"Between the dining-room and the pantry, sir. I should tell you that there is a door leading from the dining-room to the passage outside the pantry."
"You did not show Mrs. Chudleigh out?"
"No, sir. I understand that Mrs. Chudleigh left by way of the garden."
"Oh? Which way is that?"
The butler moved towards the west window. "You may see for yourself, sir. This opens on to the path leading from the drive to the lawn at the back of the house."
Harding followed him, and looked out. "I see." He consulted the paper in his hand again. "One more question. At what hour did Mr. Billington-Smith leave the house on Monday morning?"
"I really couldn't say, sir," replied Finch, after a moment's consideration.
The grey eyes lifted to his face. "Try to remember, will you?" said Harding gently.
"I'm afraid I didn't notice the time, sir. It was before Sir Arthur came in, I know."
"Would you agree that it was half past eleven?"
"Somewhere about there, sir, I should say."
"Did it strike you that Mr. Billington-Smith was at all upset when he went out?"
"I did not notice anything unusual, sir."
"You did not consider it unusual for him to go without his hat on a hot day?"
"Oh dear me, no, sir! Mr. Billington-Smith very rarely wore a hat in the country."
"Did he appear to be in a hurry?"
"It did not strike me in that way, sir."
"He did not, in your opinion, rush out of the house as though he were quite beside himself?"
"No, sir, certainly not. But then I know Mr Geoffrey very well, and I should not set any store by him moving quickly, as one might say. Mr Geoffrey has an impetuous way of going about his business, if you understand me."
"So that you did not think it odd that he should leave the front door open behind him?"
"Oh no, not at all, sir. Mr Geoffrey is very forgetful in those ways."
Once more Harding favoured him with a long, appraising look. "Thank you," he said. "I don't think there is anything more I want to ask you at present."
The butler bowed. "No, sir. Perhaps you would touch the bell when you wish me to conduct you over the house?"
The Sergeant watched him go out of the room, carefully closing the door behind him, and transferred his gaze to Inspector Harding's face. "You got more out of him than what the Superintendent did, sir," he remarked in his deep, slow voice. "A sight more."
"A very precise witness — until we got to Mr. Billington-Smith, where I think he swerved a little from the truth," commented Harding.
"I was watching him close all the time," said the Sergeant unnecessarily. "It struck me he was being careful — I won't say more than that. Careful."
"Sergeant, will you sit down at the desk?" said Harding, going to the west window again. "I think it might help us to know whether a man seated in that chair would be visible to anyone walking down the path to the drive." He unbolted the window as he spoke, and stepped out into the garden, drawing the window to behind him. As at the front of the house, a broad grass border ran from the window to the gravel path. Harding crossed this, went a little way up the path, and then turned, and walked down it, past the window. Then he re-entered the room, and bolted the window once more. "Yes, I think perhaps Mrs. Chudleigh may be able to help us fix the time of the murder more exactly," he said. He came up to the desk. "Now, Sergeant, let us look through these papers," hc said, taking the swivel-chair which the Sergeant had just vacated. "I don't think there's anything else likely to interest us, with the possible exception of the safe. I shall want that opened, of course. Do you know if the Chief Constable warned Mr. Billington-Smith to have his father's lawyer down?"
"Yes, sir, that I do know he did, for I was in the hall at the time. But we found it just like you see, not tampered with at all."
"Any finger-prints?" inquired Harding, his eyes on the pencil that lay on the desk.
"No, nothing of that kind. Quite clean it was." He looked rather dubiously at Harding. "Were you thinking there might have been robbery, sir?"
"No, I should say most unlikely."
"That's what I thought," said the Sergeant, glad to find himself in agreement.
Harding had picked up a slip of paper on the top of tie sheaf on the desk. Some memoranda had been jotted down on it in pencil. Harding considered the pencil again for a moment.
"Looks like the General was making a list of what he had to do," suggested the Sergeant helpfully.
"It looks as though he were interrupted while he was doing so," said Harding. "He did not finish the last note he made."
"No more he did!" said the Sergeant, stooping to read the pencilled scrawl more nearly. "Speak to Lester," (that's the gardener) and then "See Barker about."
Well, that isn't sense, is it? The General wouldn't write a thing like that. He was a very methodical man. No, you're right, sir. Someone interrupted him before he had time to put down what he wanted to see Mr Barker about, and what's more he didn't finish that memo, afterwards, because he was dead."
"Well, perhaps that's leaping to conclusions a bit," said Harding. "At the same time it is just possible that he was jotting down that note when his murderer entered the room, and equally possible that at the moment when the blow was struck he was still holding the pencil in his hand."
The Sergeant turned this over in his mind. "You're thinking of that bit of writing the Superintendent showed you," he pronounced.
"I am, yes." Harding laid the slip of paper aside, and began to go through the others littered over the desk. There was nothing amongst them of any interest, and when he had glanced through them he turned to the waste-paper basket beside the chair. It was half-full of torn and crumpled letters which a cursory inspection informed Harding were either circulars or begging appeals. Under these were the scattered fragments of a cheque, torn into four pieces. Harding lifted these out and laid them on the desk, piecing them together.
The Sergeant drew nearer, watching this process. When it was finished he was silent for a moment. Then he said: "That's black, sir."
"At any rate," said Harding, "it would seem to explain Mr. Halliday's quarrel with the General."
The cheque had not been passed through a bank. It was dated July 1st, and was drawn for fifty pounds, made payable to Mrs. Camilla Halliday. The General's signature was written at the bottom of it.
There was nothing else in the waste-paper basket of importance, and after a quick glance at two circulars and the notice of a meeting of the Silsbury branch of the British Fascisti, Harding gathered together the torn cheque and rose to his feet. "I'll take a look at the position of the other rooms on this floor now, Sergeant. Keep a man on duty here till the safe's been opened, will you?"
"Yes, sir. Do you make anything of it?" inquired the Sergeant diffidently.
"Not very much yet. There are one or two points." He went to the fireplace, and pressed the bell that flanked it.
The butler came presently in answer to the bell's summons, and escorted the Inspector over the ground floor of the house rather in the manner of a guide in a historic mansion. Leading him through the dining-room to the service door outside the pantry, he brought him back again by way of the swing door shutting off the servant's wing from the hall. He then led the way to the garden-hall, like the kitchens, on the east side of the house, pointed out the back stairs, returned to the hall. and entered the billiard-room. From the windows Harding obtained a view of the terrace, where the house party was gathered for tea. He declined going into the drawing-room. "Thanks, I think I have a pretty good idea of the house now," he said. "I want to see the various people who are staying here next. Can you show me a room where I shan't be disturbed, or in the way?"
"I think the morning-room would be the most suitable. sir,". said Finch, standing aside to allow him to pass on into the hall again. "This way, if you please."
Harding nodded to the Sergeant, waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. "Will you come along too, Sergeant?" He consulted a list from his pocket-book, and glanced up at the butler. "Is Mrs. Twining by any chance in the house?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. Mrs. Twining is on the terrace now."
"Then will you ask her, please, if she will come here?" said Harding.
There was a square table in the middle of the room. When the butler had gone Harding pulled a chair out from it, and sat down with his back to the light. The westering sun was streaming into the room, and the windows stood open to admit as much air as could be obtained on this hot, windless afternoon.
Harding spread his papers out on the table, and chose from amongst them Mrs. Twining's original statement. He was running his eye over this when Finch opened the door, and announced Mrs. Twining. She came in, looking slightly bored. She was wearing a lavender frock that subtly conveyed the impression of half-mourning; and a large black straw hat with a high crown was set at an angle on her well-coiffed head. "Good afternoon, Inspector," she said, surveying him in her cool, ironic way.
Harding rose, and came round the table to pull up a chair for her. "Good afternoon," he said. "Won't you sit clown? I want you, if you will, to answer one or two questions."
She took the chair he had placed for her, and moved it a little out of the direct sunlight. "Certainly," she said. "But at my age, Inspector, one does not sit in the full glare of the sun. It is not fair to oneself." She sat down, leaning one elbow on the wooden chair-arm, and with the other hand holding her bag lightly in her lap. She became aware of the Sergeant standing by the fireplace and fixedly regarding her. Her brows rose a little, and her lips parted in a faint smile. "Ah, good afternoon, Sergeant" she said.
"Mrs. Twining, can you remember the precise time of your arrival here yesterday morning?" asked Harding.
"Perfectly," she replied. "I arrived at ten minutes past twelve."
"Thank you." Harding made a brief note. "The butler. I think admitted you. Will you describe to me just what you did after entering the house?"
"I'll try to," said Mrs. Twining. "But I trust you won't use it in evidence against me."
He smiled. "We only do that when we make arrests, Mrs. Twining. If you can carry your mind back successfully — I know it is difficult to remember exactly it would help me to check up on the various statements."
"Well, I think I laid down my sunshade first," said Mrs. Twining reflectively. "Ah, that doesn't interest you. I told Finch that I wanted to tidy my hair (a euphemism for "powder my nose", of course), and would show myself out on to the terrace."
"And you did in fact powder your nose, Mrs. Twining, at the mirror over the fireplace?"
"Most thoroughly," she agreed.
"How long did that take you?"
She looked rather amused. "When a woman powders her nose, Inspector, she loses count of time. My own estimate would be a moment or two; almost any man, I feel, would probably say, ages."
"Were you as long, perhaps, as five minutes?"
"I hope not. Let us say three — without prejudice."
"And during that time, did you hear voices in the study?"
"No," said Mrs. Twining. "I heard no sound at all in the study."
"And when you left the hall, you went straight out on to the terrace? Can you remember who was there?"
She thought for a moment. "Certainly Miss Fawcett," she said. "Ah yes! Mrs. Halliday also, and Mr. Guest."
"You are sure that there was no one else, Mrs. Twining?"
"Not when I first arrived," she answered. "Miss Fawcett and I strolled to the rose-garden to find Lady Billington-Smith, who, however, was in the vegetable-garden. She joined us on the lawn as we were returning to the terrace."
"Had anyone else come on to the terrace by that time?"
"No. I remember thinking how bored Mrs. Halliday appeared to be with Mr. Guest's sole company."
Harding made another note. "Now, Mrs. Twining, can you recall just when the other members of the party joined you? It is rather important, so please take your time."
She sat for a minute in silence, absently regarding the Sergeant. "Mrs. Chudleigh," she said presently. "She arrived almost immediately after we — Miss Fawcett, Lady Billington-Smith, and myself had come back to the terrace. She wanted a subscription for some charity. Mr. Halliday was the last to put in an appearance. He came out of the billiard-room a few minutes later."
"When you say a few minutes, Mrs. Twining, does that mean five? — ten? — fifteen?"
"It is difficult for me to say. We were all talking, you see. I don't think it can have been as much as fifteen. Somewhere between five and ten minutes. But I am merely guessing."
"Miss de Silva, then, didn't join you at all?"
"Not until very much later — some little time after one -o'clock."
"I see. And before one o'clock, did anyone leave the terrace?"
"I believe Mr. Guest went upstairs for his tobacco," she replied.
"At about what time, Mrs. Twining?"
"Very soon after Mr. Halliday joined us."
"Before half past twelve, do you think or after?"
She reflected. "Before," she said. "At half past twelve Mrs. Chudleigh called our attention to the time, and said she must go, or she would be late for lunch."
"Had Mr. Guest returned by then?"
She frowned slightly. "I'm not entirely sure. I fancy not."
"Had he returned, can you remember, by the time Finch brought out the tray of cocktails?"
She made a little gesture with her hand. "Again, I am uncertain. I don't think I noticed his return. He was certainly on the terrace just before one. That is all I can say."
Harding looked up. "He might have been absent for half an hour, in fact?"
"Oh no!" she said. "I should certainly have noticed that."
"And no one else left the terrace until you yourself went to fetch Sir Arthur?"
"No," she answered. "No one."
"Thank you, Mrs. Twining. Now as to your own movements: you went to fetch Sir Arthur on to the terrace. Had you any particular reason for wanting to see him?"
She raised her brows a trifle haughtily. "Particular reason?" she repeated. "I don't think I quite understand you, Inspector. What precisely do you mean?"
"Nothing very much," said Harding, with his rather charming smile. "It merely strikes me, a stranger, as a little odd, if the only reason for fetching Sir Arthur was as you informed the Superintendent yesterday — that he should not miss his cocktail, that it was not Lady Billington-Smith who went to him, or even Miss Fawcett."
Mrs. Twining unfastened the catch of her bag, and closed it again. "It was not really so very odd, Inspector if you knew the circumstances."
"But, you see, I don't know the circumstances," said Harding. "That is what I want you to explain to me, please."
Mrs. Twining looked up from her bag. "It would take rather too long, Inspector, I am afraid. I was a very old friend of Sir Arthur's. There was nothing at all unusual in my going to have a little talk with him."
"Then you did, in fact, want to see him alone?" said Harding.
She hesitated. "Yes," she said at last. "There was something I wanted to discuss with him." She met Harding's steady regard. "His son's marriage," she said, deliberately.
"Sir Arthur was considerably upset by Geoffrey's engagement to Miss de Silva, and I wanted to talk it over with him."
"When you say upset, Mrs. Twining, do you mean distressed or enraged?"
"I imagine, both, Inspector. It was, not unnaturally a blow to Sir Arthur." She moved slightly in her chair putting a hand up to shield her eyes from the sun.
"Am I right in assuming, Mrs. Twining, that there had been a serious quarrel between Sir Arthur and his son which you wished if possible to smooth over?"
She smiled. "Serious, Inspector? Oh no! Noisy perhaps, but hardly serious to anyone acquainted with Sir Arthur. Sir Arthur had had far too many quarrels with his son — and, in fact, with everybody with whom he came in contact — for his outbreaks to be taken seriously. But while his bad temper lasted he could make himself extremely disagreeable. I am afraid my mission was only to talk him into a good humour so that he shouldn't ruin his wife's luncheon-party — as he was somewhat apt to do when at all put out."
"You didn't consider the quarrel with his son to be of much moment?"
"You see," said Mrs. Twining apologetically, "I knew Sir Arthur too well to set much store by his threats."
"And you didn't think that his threats might provoke his son to some extreme course of action?"
She gave a faint laugh. "No, Inspector, I certainly did not. I am also well acquainted with Geoffrey — too well acquainted to expect him to do more than precisely what he did do — fling himself out of the house in a temper and walk it off, and return — a trifle sheepishly."
"I see," said Harding. "And now will you try to tell me, Mrs. Twining, exactly how you found Sir Arthur, when you went into the study, and what you did?"
"I found him dead, Inspector," she replied calmly. "He had fallen forward across his desk."
"You didn't raise any outcry?" inquired Harding.
"If you mean, did I scream, certainly not. I am not a flapper," said Mrs. Twining with a touch of asperity. "Nor did I immediately realise that Sir Arthur was dead. If I remember rightly, I spoke his name first. Then I went up to him, and laid my hand on his shoulder." Involuntarily sloe glanced down at her hand. "I didn't see the blood till I had actually touched him," she said in a level controlled voice. "I don't think I grasped what had happened even then. I believe I must have stayed quite still for some moments. I felt — a little stunned. When I pulled myself together I tried to rouse him; I think I felt for his pulse." She stopped, and pressed her handkerchief to her lips.
"And then?" prompted Harding.
She looked at him. "I felt extremely sick," she said. "I sat clown on the arm of the chair by the fire — or perhaps I should say, more correctly, that I collapsed on to it. I think if I had not I should have fainted outright. When the — nausea passed, I left the room, shutting the door behind me, so that no one should see in, and went back to the terrace, and told the others."
"So that it was at least five minutes, possibly even longer, after you discovered Sir Arthur before you went back to the terrace?"
"I have no idea," she replied. "I should think it quite probable."
Harding got up. "Thank you, Mrs. Twining. I won't ask you any more just at present." She rose, and went towards the door. He held it open for her, and as she passed out, said: "I wonder if you would be kind enough to ask Lady Billington-Smith if she will come here?"
She bowed. "Certainly, Inspector," she said, and wens out.