The police car which had conveyed the Sergeant to Bramhurst did not return to Ralton until quite a late hour. The Sergeant found Inspector Harding at the police station, and at once proceeded to give him a faithful account of his investigations. These had been most thorough, for, acting on the Inspector's instructions, he had made inquiries at numerous points along the road, and although in most instances he had drawn blank, he had traced an A.A. official to his home, and ascertained from him that Captain Billington-Smith's car had passed the big cross-roads a few miles south of Bramhurst shortly after one o'clock. The A.A. man remembered the car, for he had held it up to allow a lorry to pass first, but he had not noticed whether it was running badly. This, coupled with a positive statement from the mechanic at the garage in Bramhurst that Captain Billington-Smith had driven his car into the yard at one-thirty precisely, seemed to prove that either Captain Billington-Smith's watch had been an hour slow when he looked at it, or that he had his own reasons for wanting to make the police believe that it was twelve thirty when he arrived at Bramhurst. As to the choked jet, it had certainly been cleaned, but whether it had been in a bad enough condition seriously to impede the running of the car was a point on which the Sergeant could not induce the garage hands to put forward an opinion. The spare tyre had certainly been flat, and he had mended this while Captain Billington-Smith was having lunch. The waiter at the Stag corroborated the evidence in as much as he was able to state that the Captain had not entered the dining-room until a quarter to two, which circumstance he remembered perfectly, the Captain having been the last person to order lunch that day.
Inspector Harding had also been making investigations, and the results of one of these came to hand , at ten o'clock that evening, when he received a note from the Superintendent summoning him back to the police station. Here there awaited him a spare and weather beaten man in a plain suit who had certain information to give him. He was the postman who served the Lyndhurst district, and he was able to state definitely that on Monday morning at eleven-thirty when he was on hip way up to Dean Farm by the cart-track that ran between Moorsale Park and the Grange, he had passed Captain Billington-Smith's car, parked a little way up the track hard against the spinney at the bottom of the Grange garden. The track was scarcely ever used, the main approach to Dean Farm being from the main road on the other side, but he himself always used this back entrance, to save a long detour.
The Sergeant had gone home some time before the postman's visit, but the Superintendent was still in the police station, and found this new disclosure so conclusive that he would have liked to go at once to the nearest magistrate to procure a warrant for Captain Billington-Smith's arrest.
Inspector Harding was not so enthusiastic. When the postman had left them, he said (most unreasonably, the Superintendent thought) that the case seemed to be getting in a worse tangle than ever, and picked up his hat. "It's all wrong, Superintendent," he complained. "I'm going to bed, to sleep on it."
The Superintendent watched him walk over to the door, and made up his mind to tell the Chief Constable that they'd have done better without calling in Scotland Yard, just as he'd always prophesied. Here was a piece of news come to hand that solved the whole case, and all this precious Inspector did about it was to go off home to bed. "What about the inquest tomorrow morning?" he asked.
"I think an adjournment, don't you?" Harding suggested.
"The way things are shaping that's what I shall have to ask for," said the Superintendent crushingly.
As might have been expected, the court-room at Silsbury was crowded next morning, but those who had come in the hope of hearing thrilling disclosures were disappointed. Of the Grange party, only Geoffrey and Francis, the Hallidays, and Stephen Guest were present. The police evidence was followed by the evidence of both doctors, and there was nothing in what they had to say to interest an audience who already had all the facts of the case in mind. Dr Raymond gave it as his opinion that death had occurred some time between twelve and one o'clock, but admitted, upon pressure, that it was difficult to reach any degree of certainty on this point. Death had been caused by a blow from a shallow instrument driven into the deceased's neck below the right ear, and severing the carotid artery. He agreed with the Divisional Surgeon that the blow was struck by someone standing slightly behind the General.
Here a slight quickening of interest was caused by Inspector Harding, who rose to his feet to put a question to the doctor. He wanted to know whether, in Dr Raymond's opinion, death would have been instantaneous.
"Practically instantaneous," replied the doctor.
"What in your opinion, doctor, would have been the maximum time to elapse between the actual striking of the blow and death?"
The doctor hesitated. "I should not like to give am very definite opinion on that point. In my view, death must have taken place within a minute, or even less."
"Thank you," said the Inspector, and sat down again.
After Dr Raymond, Mrs. Twining was called, and recounted in a composed manner the circumstance: under which she had discovered the General's body. She was followed by Guest, Halliday, and Finch, who in turn described briefly how they had found the General's body, and what measures they took to ensure that nothing should be disturbed until the police came. After that, the Superintendent, arose, and asked for an adjournment.
This being granted there was nothing left for the disappointed audience to do but to go discontentedly home.
In spite of her declared intention not to be present at the inquest Mrs. Chudleigh was foremost amongst those who filed out of the court-room. By the time she got outside, however, Geoffrey, Francis, and Mr. Tremlowe had all embarked in Francis's car, so that she was unable to get a word with any of them. The Hallidays, with Stephen Guest and Finch, had come in the Daimler, and would return in it as soon as Guest had bought some tobacco, and Camilla a new lipstick. Mrs. Chudleigh saw Camilla just leaving the building, and caught up with her, explanations for her presence at the inquest hurrying off her tongue.
"Oh, good morning, Mrs. Halliday! Such a lovely day, I thought I would come into Silsbury to do a little shopping. I always take the bus in at least once a month: it is really most convenient. And since I happened to be in town I thought I would just pop in at the inquest to try and get a word with Lady Billington-Smith. But I see she is not here."
"No, she stayed at home," said Camilla. "It wasn't as though anything was done at the inquest. I must say, I can't see the sense of it because we all knew everything that was said. It wasn't my idea of an inquest at all, and what on earth the police want an adjournment for when they've had all this time to find out who did the murder I can't imagine. Especially as it's absolutely under their noses. It's perfectly obvious who did it, and I don't mind telling you that I suspected it from the start. I mean, the way he behaved!"
"Really?" said Mrs. Chudleigh, keeping step with her along the street. "I hope I'm not inquisitive, but it is rather absurd that there should be so much mystery about it."
Camilla gave her empty laugh. "Yes, it makes me pretty wild, the way they all stick together, just because it's in the family. Well, I spoke my mind about it. Of course they didn't like it, but what I say is, why should everything be shifted on to my husband when someone else had far more reason to want to get rid of poor Sir Arthur? It's absolutely unfair, and so I told them!"
"Oh, but surely no one suspects Mr. Halliday?" said Mrs. Chudleigh.
"Oh, don't they?" snapped Camilla. "I've got eyes, and I'm not quite a fool, Mrs. Chudleigh!"
"But who do you think did it?" asked Mrs. Chudleigh, hurrying to keep up with her.
"Well, I won't mention any names," said Camillia darkly, "but we all know who had a simply frightful row with poor Sir Arthur the very day he was murdered, and was going to be thrown out of the house. Yes, and then, if you please, we are told that he'd broken off his engagement! Of course every one could guess that's simply a blind to lead the police off the scent, but if you ask me Inspector Harding's on to him already, and if there's any more talk of asking Basil a whole lot of insulting questions, I shall say right out that they'd better ask why that engagement was broken off so suddenly , that's all!"
"Good gracious, you don't think Geoffrey did it?" gasped the Vicar's wife. "Oh, but that can't be so! Such a nice boy, and so delicate! And besides he couldn't have done it, for I saw him myself that morning, quite a long way from the Grange."
"You saw him?" said Camilla, stopping in front of a draper's window.
"Yes, I saw him on my way home. I wonder if I ought to tell the Inspector? I think it is my clear duty to find him, and tell him. I suppose he will be at the Grange, won't he?"
"You could just as easily tell them at the police station," said Camilla maliciously.
"No, Mrs. Halliday, I shall do no such thing. I hope I should never shirk what I know to be my duty, and I am quite aware that it is the Inspector who is in charge of the case. It's most inconvenient, for I have a great deal on my hands, but I always say one can make time if one wants to, and I shall call at the Grange on my way home. And at the same time I shall hope to have a little quiet talk with Lady Billington-Smith."
"I expect she'll love that," said Camilla. "I don't know when you saw Geoffrey, but I do know it would take a lot to convince me he didn't do it!"
The first person to reach the Grange after the inquest was Inspector Harding. He was admitted by the footman, and had hardly set foot inside the house when Miss Fawcett came running downstairs, and leaned over the banisters. "Is that you, Geoffrey?" she called. "What happened?"
"No, it's not Geoffrey," said Harding, walking forward. "Nothing much happened. We asked for an adjournment."
"You don't mean to say we've got to go on as we are?"
"Not for long, I hope."
"Oh, my giddy aunt!" groaned Miss Fawcett. "This is ceasing to be funny!"
Harding regarded her in some amusement. "Do tell me," he said, "is that how a murder generally strikes you?"
"Not the murder," explained Dinah. Just the , the general effect. When I joined this little house-party every one seemed more or less human. You ought to see us en famine now. More like a zoo than anything — "specially when Camilla starts screeching." She looked down at him from her superior elevation, and inquired with friendly interest: "What are you going to do now? Crawl round looking for footprints?"
"That was all done before I came," explained Harding gravely.
Miss Fawcett shook her head. "If you want a thing well done you should do it yourself," she said.
"I wish you'd come downstairs; I'm getting a crick in the neck," returned Inspector Harding.
"Surely," said Miss Fawcett with severity, "you didn't come here to waste time talking to me, Inspector?"
"Don't call me Inspector. I came to talk to Captain Billington-Smith, but I have an idea he hasn't yet come back from Silsbury."
"Deduction, I suppose?" said Dinah, cocking her head on one side.
"Pure deduction. I can't find his footprints. I wish you'd come down."
Dinah obeyed. "As a matter of fact he isn't back yet. He had to take Mr. Tremlowe to the station. Did you see him wending thither wards?"
"I didn't, but I saw him drive off with his cousin. So when you called, "Is that you, Geoffrey?" I leaped to the con — that is to say, I deduced that they hadn't yet arrived."
"What a loss you'll be to Scotland Yard when you start that chicken farm!" remarked Miss Fawcett admiringly.
"I shall, of course, but it can't be helped. I'd very nearly made up my mind this should be my last case when I first came down here. I'm quite decided now that it shall be."
"You mustn't let yourself get disheartened," said Miss Fawcett, firmly putting the conversation back on to a flippant basis. "For all you know you may suddenly hit on a first-class clue, proving that I did it. You should never trust to alibis. I know I've read that somewhere."
"If I found that you had done it -" said Inspector Harding in much too serious a voice. "Well, that's too horrible a thought. Let's talk of something else."
Ten minutes later, when Geoffrey and Francis entered the house, Miss Fawcett and Inspector Harding were seated side by side on a black-oak settle, amicably exchanging views on Life, Tastes, and Ambitions.
"Dear me!" said Francis, at his blandest. "I'm afraid we have interrupted a tete-a-tete. Or is it just police investigation?"
Inspector Harding, betraying no sign of discomfiture, got up. "Good morning," he said impersonally. "I want a word with you, Captain Billington-Smith. Will you come into the morning-room, please?"
"Oh, was I the person you came to see?" said Francis. "It all goes to show one ought never to judge by appearances, doesn't it?"
Harding vouchsafed no answer to this, but merely held open the door into the morning-room. Francis strolled in, stripping off his wash-leather driving gloves.
Harding shut the door, and walked slowly forward.
Francis tossed his gloves on to the table between them, and drew out his cigarette-case. "From your expression,
Inspector, I'm led to suppose you have something of great importance to disclose."
"You are perfectly right," said Harding. "What I have to say to you is extremely serious, Captain Billington-Smith. Your car was seen, parked on the track leading to Dean Farm, at eleven-thirty on Monday morning."
For a moment Francis's hand remained poised above his open cigarette-case, while his eyes, suddenly narrowed, looked straight across into Harding's. Then, he drew out a cigarette, and shut his case with a snap. "Damn!" he said, and returned the case to his pocket. He set the cigarette between his lips, lit it, and blew a cloud of smoke. "Well?" he said. "What now?"
"Now," said Harding quietly, "I should like you to tell me the true story of what you did on Monday morning. Where were you at eleven-thirty?"
"Robbing the safe in the next room," replied Francis with something of a snap. "Who was the meddlesome busybody who nosed out my car?"
"That doesn't concern you, Captain Billington-Smith. Now, you are not bound to make a statement, but in your own interests I advise you to do so."
"It is quite obvious that I must," replied Francis. "Well, my uncle didn't send me the notes. You never really thought he had sent them, did, you? It would have been remarkably difficult to have proved that he hadn't, though. I robbed the safe when I knew he would be out of the house. I hope you notice my use of the phrase "robbed the safe". It sounds much better than "stole the money", and comes to the same thing." He gave a mirthless laugh, and threw his half-smoked cigarette into the grate. "I wanted it pretty badly. A card debt, as I quite truthfully told you. A cheque on my bank, judging from an engaging chat I had with the manager a week ago, didn't seem to me to stand much chance of being honoured. For which very good reason I came to spend the week-end in this house. My uncle rather liked me, you know. In his saner moments he would have paid much more than one hundred and thirty pounds to keep me — or his name — out of the mud. Unfortunately I didn't strike him in one of these. That was thanks to my cousin's perfectly insane infatuation with the fair Lola. I did what I could, but even my handling of Uncle failed. I tackled him on Monday, immediately after breakfast. He was all tuned up for one final, cataclysmic quarrel with Geoffrey. I might as well have talked to a brick wall. So I left him to have it out with Geoffrey. If Geoffrey had promised to abjure Lola and be a good boy there might have been a chance for me. So I waited till the row was over. The sight of Geoffrey gnawing his fingers and rolling his eyes in the manner of one goaded beyond endurance told me, however, that there was still no hope. I took my departure. The car, by the way, was running badly — dam' badly, but I was really too worried to care. I drove slowly towards London, wondering what the hell I was to do next." He stopped, and sat down in a chair by the table. "By the time I'd covered about ten miles I knew what I was going to do. And now I shall have to go back a bit. Do tell me if I'm boring you!"
Harding said only: "Go on, please."
"At breakfast my uncle had favoured us with a short dissertation on method, and the way to run a household. He announced that at ten o'clock he was going to Ralton to cash a cheque for the month's expenses, and at the same time he made an assignation with the Halliday woman, to take her to see a litter of pups at his keeper's cottage at eleven o'clock. Wasn't it providential?"
"I take it you knew the workings of the safe?"
"Oh lord, yes! Who didn't? I turned the car and drove back, running it finally up the track where it was found. Criminals always make at least one mistake, don't they? That was mine. I thought the track was disused. I walked up through the spinney, skirted the edge of the drive, keeping to the cover of all those gloomy rhododendrons, and entered the study by the front window, at eleven thirty. The money was, as I had expected, in the safe. I took the exact sum I wanted, and departed again. Time, probably about eleven-forty-five, when I got back to the car. May have been later, but not much. Then I drove to Bramhurst."
"What I told you yesterday about that run was substantially correct, though I actually fetched up at the garage at one-thirty and not, as I first stated, at twelve thirty. Ah, you'd found that out already, had you? Stupid of me to have lied on that point, but I thought it more than likely that they wouldn't have any idea at the garage what time I handed the car over to them. They mended my tyre, cleaned the jet, which was badly choked, and I accomplished the rest of the journey in record time. Not really a good story, is it?"
"You must have been very badly in need of the money to take such a risk, Captain Billington-Smith."
"I was, but not, believe me, badly enough in need of it to murder my uncle. I admit it was an idiotic thing to do. I yielded to impulse. I usually do. The risk wasn't of exposure, though. But if Uncle succeeded in tracing the notes to me I ran a fair chance of being cut out of his Will. At the time I didn't consider that. One can't think of everything, can one?" He got up, and walked over to the old-fashioned mirror over the mantelpiece, and straightened his tie. In the mirror his eyes met Harding's. "Well, what is the next move? Are you going to arrest me on suspicion of having murdered my uncle? I don't somehow think you'll get a verdict."
"No, I haven't applied for a warrant for your arrest yet," answered Harding. "But it's not, as you said, a good story. I shall have to ask you to remain on the premises until I've investigated it. Meanwhile, I want you to sit down and put on paper what you have just told me."
"Certainly," said Francis. He went over to the desk against one wall, selected several sheets of writing-paper, and dipped a pen in the ink-pot. He wrote unhurriedly, and without any evidence of discomfort in the task. At the end he signed his name with a flourish, and handed the statement over to Harding, who read it through, and put it away in his pocket-book.
"And is that all for the moment?" inquired Francis.
"Yes, that's all," replied Harding.
"Quite enough too, don't you think?" said Francis, walking over to the door. "I said you were getting a remarkable insight into the family." He opened the door, and went out. Then he looked back. "It seems you're wanted, Inspector," he said languidly. "More disclosures, probably."
Harding turned, but Francis had gone, and it was Geoffrey who stood in the doorway.
Geoffrey said impetuously: "Can I come in? There's something frightfully important you ought to know! It absolutely clears me!"
"That's good," said Harding pleasantly. "Yes, of course come in. What is it I ought to know?"
Geoffrey looked back over his shoulder. "I say, will you come in, Mrs. Chudleigh? Mrs. Chudleigh saw me on Monday, Inspector. And look here! Do you know that that b— I mean, that cat of a Halliday woman is going about saying that it was I who murdered Father? She told Mrs. Chudleigh so bang in the middle of Silsbury High Street. I don't know whether I can have her up for libel. but I've a jolly good mind to!"
Harding was not paying very much attention to this speech. He bowed to Mrs. Chudleigh. "Good morning," he said. "Won't you sit down?"
"Thank you," she replied, taking the chair later vacated by Francis. "It is perfectly true, what Geoffrey says. I consider Mrs. Halliday a most slanderous woman. and immediately I heard what she had to say I saw that it was my clear duty to come straight up to the Grange to find you! I must say, I'm not in the least surprised at her spreading such a wicked scandal, for I mistrusted her from the moment I set eyes on her."
"Did you, Mrs. Chudleigh? But I think you were going to tell me where and when you saw Mr. Billington-Smith on Monday, weren't you?"
"I am just coming to that, if you will allow me to speak, Inspector. And I may mention that had I ever dreamed that Geoffrey could be suspected of having — murdered — his father I should have told you that I had seen him when you called on me the other night. But I am glad to say that I am not in the habit of suspecting people of crimes, and such a notion literally did not cross my mind."
"I quite understand," said Harding. "And where was it that you saw Mr. Billington-Smith?"
"I saw him walking down the footpath across Moorsale Park, just beside the lake. I was on my way home from this house."
"Do you mean that you met him, Mrs. Chudleigh, or that you saw him from a distance?"
"Considering that I was on the road, and he in the park I could hardly have met him, Inspector. But if you are hinting that I was mistaken in thinking it was Geoffrey whom I saw, I beg to state that I am not as weak-sighted as that!"
"In which direction was he walking, Mrs. Chudleigh?"
"He was going home, and I thought at the time that he would be late for lunch, for I happen to know Lady Billington-Smith always has lunch at one o'clock, and it must have been quite ten-to when I saw him because I know it takes just under half an hour to walk from the Vicarage to the Grange, door to door, and I was certainly home by one o'clock, if not earlier. So that would mean that it must have taken Geoffrey at least twenty minutes to get home from that particular point, because of the hill."
Harding drew out a pencil from his pocket, and opened his notebook. "I see. And you say this was at ten minutes to one? You mentioned a lake: that might give one rather a wide latitude. Can you place the exact spot rather more definitely?"
"I suppose you are going to see for yourself? No doubt you are only doing your duty, but I am not in the habit, strange as it may seem, of prevaricating. However, you can hardly mistake the place, since it was just where the arm of the lake stretches down to the right-of-way. If you like I will take you there myself."
"Thank you very much, but I don't think I need trouble you to do that," said Harding firmly.
She gathered up her handbag and gloves, and rose. "Then I think I will be getting home. Please tell Lady Billington-Smith that I was sorry she did not feel equal to seeing me, Geoffrey. Good morning, Inspector!" She favoured him with a stiff little bow, and walked out of the room, escorted by the grateful Geoffrey.
"It's a frightfully lucky thing you saw me," he confided, on the doorstep. "I mean, I had had a row with Father. and I suppose it did look rather black, really."
"I am only sorry that I didn't think to tell the Inspector sooner," said Mrs. Chudleigh, buttoning up her gloves. "No doubt had I been Mrs. Halliday I should have. You must have had a dreadfully worrying time."
"Well, as a matter of fact, I did, rather," admitted Geoffrey. "It's all been absolutely ghastly, because after the way she treated me I simply didn't want ever to set eyes on Lola again, and here we've been cooped up in the same house, and everybody thinking I'd broken it off just as a blind."
"Oh, have you broken it off?" said Mrs. Chudleigh. "Well, I'm sure that's very trying for you, Geoffrey, but you know I can't help feeling that Miss de Silva is hardly the kind of girl to make a good wife for you. Not that I have anything against her, but she seemed to me a most callous, immoral young woman, and I should not be at all surprised if I heard that she was no better than she should be."
Geoffrey looked a, little doubtful at this terrific pronouncement, and said: "Oh well, I don't know about that, quite, but she's utterly destroyed my faith in women.
"And I'm sure I don't wonder at it!" said Mrs. Chudleigh.
Geoffrey, having finally seen his saviour off the premises, hurried back to the terrace, where Fay and Dinah were sitting. Francis was also with them, lounging in a basket-chair. "I say, have you heard?" Geoffrey demanded. "Mrs. Chudleigh saw me on Monday, and it absolutely clears me! Isn't it simply marvellous luck that she happened to catch sight of me?"
"Too, too marvellous!" agreed Francis. "My poor ass, nobody's interested in your movements any longer. Attention is now concentrated on my unworthy self."
Fay stretched out her hand to her stepson. "Oh, Geoffrey, I'm so glad! I always knew you couldn't possibly have done such an awful thing, but it's splendid that you've found an alibi. Only Francis has been telling us — no, I can't bring myself to repeat it. It's too revolting!"
"Yes," drawled Francis, "it's all very shocking, Geoffrey. Truth will be in all probability out, so you may just as well hear it now as later. I was in this house at eleven-thirty on Monday for the express purpose of abstracting one hundred and thirty pounds from Uncle's safe. And what is more, I did abstract it."
"What?" said Geoffrey, staring. "You were here that morning? Then -"
"Not so fast, dear cousin. I said I was here at eleven thirty. You will all of you find it very difficult to prove that I murdered Uncle Arthur. The problem that is really interesting me is whether you and Fay can prosecute me for theft, or whether I, as a principal legatee, should have to prosecute myself? You do see my point, don't you?"
"You seem to me to be quite shameless!" said Fay, in a low, disgusted voice.
"I am," said Francis, settling himself more comfortably in his chair. "Quite shameless."