Guest's deep-set eyes considered the Sergeant for one indifferent moment, and then passed on to Harding's face, and remained there. "Good afternoon, Inspector," he said, and walked up to the chair by the table and sat down.
"Good afternoon," Harding returned. "I have one in two questions I want to ask you concerning your movements yesterday morning, Mr. Guest."
"Carry on," said Guest, feeling in one coat-pocket for his pipe and tobacco-pouch. He settled himself at ease in his chair and began in a methodical way to fill his pipe.
"Can you remember just what you were doing up till twelve o'clock?"
Guest smiled slightly. "Rather a tall order, Inspector. I don't think I did anything in particular. I read the papers, knocked the billiard balls about a bit, and went out to sit on the terrace — round about eleven-thirty, I should say. Halliday was with me: he might know the exact time."
"Then it was not because you had something particular to do that you told the footman he need not be in a hurry to pack your bag, as you had changed your mind and were not leaving by the early train?"
Guest struck a match, and waited for it to burn a little way up the stick before holding it to his pipe. "No," he said.
"What did induce you to change your mind, Mr. Guest?"
Stephen Guest puffed at his pipe, and pressed the tobacco down with one spatulate finger. "I thought I might as well travel up with the Hallidays on the afternoon train," he replied.
Harding glanced up from the paper in his hand. "There had been, before breakfast, some unpleasantness between Sir Arthur and Lady Billington-Smith, I think?"
"So I believe," replied Guest uncommunicatively.
"Did you hear this quarrel in progress?"
"I did."
"Did that in any way influence you when you decided to leave by the later train?"
"It did not."
There did not seem to be anything more to be got out of him on this point. Harding scrutinised him for a moment in silence, and then asked: "You were, I believe, related to General Billington-Smith?"
"Some kind of cousin," agreed Guest. "More like a connection."
"You visit this house fairly frequently?"
"Now and again," said Guest, carefully laying the charred match down on the edge of the table.
"You were, then, on good terms with the General?"
"We didn't quarrel," replied Guest?"
"What does that mean, Mr. Guest?
"Well —" Guest shifted the pipe to the corner of his mouth —"The General wasn't just the type of man I get on very good terms with."
"Yet you stay in his house?"
"Oh yes!" said Guest with equanimity.
Harding looked at him for a moment; there was nothing to be learned from that square, contained face. Stephen Guest returned the look, and continued to puff at his pipe. "Will you now describe to me, as accurately as you can, what your movements were after twelve o'clock yesterday morning?" Stephen Guest reflected. "That would be about the time the General came in with Mrs. Halliday, wouldn't it? I was on the terrace."
"Was anyone with you?"
"Yes, Miss Fawcett joined me there."
"Mr. Halliday was not on the terrace?"
"Halliday went into the billiard-room shortly before Miss Fawcett turned up."
"When did you leave the terrace, Mr. Guest?"
"Very hard to say," Guest answered. "Somewhere about twelve-thirty, I should put it."
"Were you on the terrace when Mrs. Chudleigh arrived?"
"I was."
"And when she left?"
"No, I didn't see her go."
"And when the butler brought out the cocktails?"
"No."
"How long would you say that you were absent from the terrace, Mr. Guest?
Guest considered the point. "Some little while. Ten to fifteen minutes."
"What were you doing during that time?"
"I went up to my room to get some tobacco."
"Is that all, Mr. Guest?"
"Substantially," nodded Guest. "I opened a new tin, and cut myself on the jagged edge. It took a few minutes to stop it bleeding." He pulled up his shirt-cuff in a leisurely way, and showed Harding a long scratch on his wrist. "Nothing much, but I'm an easy bleeder."
"Did you see anyone while you were upstairs?"
"No."
"And when you had stopped the bleeding, did you go straight back to the terrace?"
"Straight back."
"Mr. Halliday, I think, called attention to the fact that there was blood on your cuff?"
"He did."
"Did you show him that cut?"
"I should say not."
"Or anyone else?"
"No."
"Did anyone ask you to show it?"
"I fancy Mrs. Halliday had a deal to say about it. I didn't show it. It was nothing to make a song about." Harding picked up his pencil. "Thank you, Mr. Guest: that's all at present. Will you please ask Miss de Silva to come here?"
Guest got up. "I will," he said tranquilly, and walked out.
Harding lifted an eyebrow in the Sergeant's direction.
"Did you make anything of that, Sergeant?"
"You can't, not when they stick to Yes, and No," said the Sergeant rather disgustedly. "Tough-looking customer.
Daresay he wouldn't stick at much."
Harding propped his chin in his hand, and looked thoughtfully before him, at the closed door. "He's got a very cool head on his shoulders," he remarked. "And he doesn't mean to give anything away. I wonder."
The Sergeant gave a little cough. "There was one thing as struck me, sir."
"Let's have it, Sergeant."
"Well, sir, he wouldn't show that scratch on his wrist to anyone yesterday, but he was what I'd call very prompt in letting you see it today."
"He was," agreed Harding.
"Of course, it doesn't prove anything," said the Sergeant.
"That," replied Harding, "is just the trouble."
The door opened, and Miss de Silva sailed into the room.
Harding rose, betraying no visible sign of surprise"Miss de Silva?" he asked.
"Yes," announced the lady. "I am La Lola." Her gaze lighted on the Sergeant, and kindled. "Is it you whom I have told that I will not have looking at me as though I am an assassin?" she demanded.
"No, miss, that was Constable Fletcher," replied the Sergeant hastily.
"To me," said Lola, "there is not any diflerence between you. Moreover you too stare at me. Perhaps, it is that you like to look at me a great deal because I am beautiful?"
"I'm sure I never —" began the Sergeant, flustered. Lola smiled kindly at him. "If that is it I do not at all mind, for you must understand that I am quite accustomed to be stared at."
"Miss de Silva, will you sit down?" interposed Harding.
"Yes, in that chair. I want you to try and remember just what happened yesterday morning."
"That is not at all difficult," said Miss de Silva composedly. "I have a very good memory, let me tell you. But I must say that I do not understand why you have not seen me before that stupid woman who I find is not a true blonde in the least, but on the contrary dyes her hair. She is not at all important, and besides she has no sense, for she tells extremely foolish lies. I do not like her, she is to me quite unsympathetic, quite repulsive, but I will tell you that if you think it is she who has stabbed the General you are entirely wrong. For one thing she has not enough courage, and for another she wanted the general to make love to her, and, I think, to give her money. She had not any reason to stab him. It is I to whom he was so cruel who had reason."
The Sergeant looked helplessly at Harding, who, however, preserved a calm front.
"In what way was the General cruel to you, Miss de Silva?"
"I will tell you," replied Lola cordially. "From the moment when I have entered his house he has behaved to me with rudeness and brutality, though partly I blame Geoffrey, who was very foolish not to warn his papa that I do not like gin in my cocktail, but only absinthe. Then at dinner he was quite abominable to me because I would not sit and look at a dead hare with blood on its nose, which I find completely disgusting. And after dinner when I, La Lola, have said that I will dance he was not grateful, not at all, but on the contrary very rude, quite insupportable. I have great patience, so I did not walk straight out of the house, and besides it is not sensible to walk out of the house when it is time to go to bed. So the next day I was very nice to him, very kind, and I talked to him for quite an hour, but in spite of that, and because he was entirely disagreeable and of an immense stupidity, he declared that Geoffrey should not have any money at all if he married me. So you see it is I and not in the least Camilla Halliday who had reason to stab the General."
"I see perfectly," said Harding. "Will you tell me just what happened, when Mr. Billington-Smith informed you of his father's threat?"
"But certainly I will tell you everything. It was a great shock to Geoffrey; he became quite out of his senses, and he tried to come into my bedroom at ten o'clock when he knows perfectly well that I do not see anybody but my maid until eleven. I forgive him because he was distracted."
"Was he distracted when he entered your room, Mis de Silva?"
"I will be very truthful," promised Lola. "You are a policeman, though I find that quite surprising, and it is not wise to tell lies to policemen. That I leave to Camillia Halliday. At first Geoffrey was angry only a little, but when I have pointed out to him that naturally it is impossible that we should be married when he has no longer any money, he became like a lunatic. That may be understood, for I must tell you that he loves me with desperation. I was sorry for him, most sorry for him, but happily it all arranges itself now that the General is dead."
"You are going to marry him, in fact?"
"Naturally I shall marry him, though I must tell you that I am very much upset by what Miss Fawcett says, he will not after all be Sir Geoffrey. It is to me quite incomprehensible."
"Then it is not true that Mr. Billington-Smith no longer wishes to marry you?" asked Harding bluntly.
Lola's lovely eyes opened to their widest extent. "But how could it be? He is a little upset now, one must make allowances for him. Presently he will be very glad, quite transported, to find that our marriage is now possible. If he has told you that he does not want to marry me it is a great piece of nonsense."
She spoke somewhat heatedly, and Harding tactfully introduced a fresh subject. "Tell me, Miss de Silva," he said. "What did you do when Mr. Billington-Smith had left your room?"
"At first I did not do anything, because Geoffrey was very violent, and it was necessary that I should compose myself. Presently Concetta, who is my maid, prepared my bath — and that is another thing that I must tell you: there is not any shower to my bath, and I must share it with Miss Fawcett and Mr. Guest. And after my bath I made my toilette, and when I had made my toilette it was already past one o'clock, and I came downstairs."
"Was your maid with you all the time you were dressing?"
"No, for she had not enough spirit for the machine which makes a fire for my waving-irons, and she was forced to go to the kitchen to get some more. So you see when she was not there it was quite easy for me to go down in my negligee and stab the General. I did not stab the General, because I did not think of it, and besides, in England I find it does not make one popular to kill people."
Harding said gravely: "Thank you for being so frank Miss de Silva. I won't keep you any longer."
"Do you not wish to ask me any more question.", inquired Lola, not best pleased.
"Not just now," answered Harding.
"It does not seem to me that you are a very good policeman," said Lola with austerity.
A twinkle lit Harding's eyes. "Would you like me to put you under arrest, perhaps?"
"As to that," said Lola candidly, "I have not made up my mind. It is a very good thing to have publicity but I must speak first to my agent, whom I have sent for to come immediately and discuss with me this affair."
"I expect that will be best," agreed Harding, and firmly ushered her out.
The Sergeant passed his handkerchief across his brow.
"Lor', sir, if she wasn't a foreign lady, which accounts for it, I'd say she was barmy. And what's more, sir, you can't trust these foreigners. Subtle, that's what they are. Supposing she did do it? What I mean to say is, who's to suspect her after the way she goes pointing out that shy might have done it?"
"Well, if she did do it, Sergeant, it's for us to find the proof." Harding tapped his fingers lightly on the table, considering. "It isn't a nice case," he said presently. "I think I'll see Miss Fawcett."
"Yes, sir. But she's the only person who couldn't have done it," the Sergeant pointed out respectfully. "That we do know."
"I wasn't suggesting her as a possible suspect, Sergeant. But she seemed to me, from the glimpse I had of her, to be perhaps the only person in this house who might be trusted to give a plain, unvarnished account of what happened here yesterday. Ask the butler to find her, will you?"
Miss Fawcett did not keep Inspector Harding waiting long. She appeared in about five minutes' time, and said at once in her friendliest way: "I say, have you had any tea? Do detectives drink tea? Because if so, please shout, and I'll send for some."
Harding regarded her with amusement. "Thank you very much, but detectives never have tea when on duty."
Dinah grinned. "I thought perhaps they didn't. Do you want me for anything special? I'm stiff with alibis, you know. Which," she added reflectively, "is rather a good thing, as a matter of fact, because I didn't hit it off with Arthur at all."
"Was he very unpleasant, Miss Fawcett?"
"Yes," said Dinah. "He was a stinker. To tell you the truth, I rather hope you won't find out who killed him, because it's no use being sentimental and talking a whole lot of de mortuis rot — it's a jolly good thing for everybody all round that he is dead."
"For everybody?" said Harding.
"Well, for most of us, anyway. It's a good thing for Geoffrey because now he'll be free to do as he likes without being roared at; and it's a good thing for Francis (that's Geoffrey's cousin), because I should think Arthur has left him some money; and it's a good thing for Fay because he was a loathly husband."
"And a good thing for Mr. Guest?"
Dinah looked at him sharply. "No, I didn't say it was a good thing for him. I don't suppose he's been left anything."
Harding sat down on the edge of the table. "Miss Fawcett, I'm going to be quite frank with you, and I have hopes that you will be frank with me. So far I've interviewed a number of people who all had the motives and the opportunity to commit this murder. Not one of them, with the possible exception of Mrs. Twining and the head-housemaid, told me the whole truth. Now, I'll ask you one or two questions, will you try and answer them honestly?"
Dinah considered the matter. "Well, I can't promise to answer them, but I won't lie, anyway, Inspector. Look here do you mind if I call you Mr. Harding?"
The Sergeant waited confidently for the official snub he knew would be dealt out.
"You can call me anything you like," said Inspector Harding, smiling down at Miss Fawcett.
The Sergeant regarded him in pained surprise, but concluded that the Inspector probably had his reason.
"Thanks," said Dinah. "What do you want me to tell you?"
Harding folded his arms across his chest, and looked meditatively at her for a few moments. "I think I'll tell you what I know first," he said.
"Why?" inquired Dinah, mystified.
"Because I think you'll be much more open with me if you realise that it's no use trying to conceal certain facts. To start with, I know that the General didn't get on with his son, but seemed to prefer his nephew; I know that he disapproved violently of Miss de Silva, and behaved towards her with unparalleled cruelty."
"How much?" interrupted Dinah.
Harding replied with perfect gravity: "No absinthe, no shower in her bathroom, dead hares, and -"
" Did she tell you all that?" said Dinah. "Don't you think she's rather good value?"
"Yes, but she wastes my time. I know that young Billirigton-Smith sat outside her door holding his head in his hands for an hour after his father had disinherited him, I know he left the house in an extremely overwrought condition, and had hysterics when he returned. I know that Mrs. Halliday was encouraging the General to flirt with her, and that Halliday loathed it. I know that your sister had a quarrel with the General yesterday morning that upset her very much, and I know also — I am being perfectly straightforward, Miss Fawcett — that she and Guest are in love with each other. Does that clear the air at all?"
Dinah grimaced. "You know too much, Mr. Harding. What on earth is there left for me to tell you?"
"You're going to tell me your version of what happened yesterday —- bearing in mind that I've received from one at least of the people I've mentioned , a highly coloured account."
"Yes, but I don't want to say anything that might make you suspect Fay, or Stephen, or even Geoffrey of having done the murder," objected Dinah frankly.
"Remember, Miss Fawcett, that I've already enough data about all these people to make me suspect them."
"Well, go ahead," sighed Dinah, folding her hands in her lap.
"We'll start with a talk you had with Geoffrey Billington-Smith on Saturday, outside Miss de Silva's bedroom door. Is it a fact that he threatened to do something desperate if his father interfered between him and Miss de Silva?"
"That," commented Dinah, "sounds to me like that ass of a housemaid, Dawson. I wonder where she was lurking?"
"Never mind about the ass of a housemaid," said Harding, with the hint of a smile in his eyes. "Did he say something to that effect?"
"Yes — a lot of dramatic stuff. I've noticed that ineffectual people usually do go in for highfalutin threats."
"Is he ineffectual?"
"Ghastly. No guts at all," said Miss Fawcett elegantly. "So I inferred. At the same time, he's undoubtedly very emotional. Isn't that so?"
"Yes, but it's the sort of emotionalism that raves instead of doing anything. I've no use for Geoffrey, but I honestly don't think he killed Arthur, Mr. Harding."
"We'll hope not, anyway. Now about this week-end party: was the atmosphere very thunderous?"
"Rather! It always is when Arthur's on the rampage."
"Did he take it out of your sister?"
"More or less."
"In public?"
"Anywhere."
"And yesterday morning it culminated in a more than usually serious quarrel with her?"
"You've got that bit wrong," said Dinah. "Fay couldn't quarrel with anybody, and certainly not with Arthur. I wasn't present, so I don't know exactly what happened. but from what I can gather she tried to intercede for Geoffrey, and he flew straight away into a rage, and stormed at her about everything and anything. He was like that, you know."
"It upset your sister?"
"Yes, thoroughly. I put her back to bed, because she was too weepy to come down to breakfast'
"She didn't seem to be resentful?"
"Lord, no! Just over at the knees."
"I see. And what about Guest?"
"Well, if you must know," replied Dinah, "he's the faithful swain. Inarticulate, and a bit of a poop. He might easily have knocked Arthur's teeth out, but somehow I don't see him stabbing him in the back."
"Forgive me, Miss Fawcett, but was there never any talk of divorce between your sister and Sir Arthur?"
"On account of Stephen? No, never. There ought to have been, but Fay would never face the scandal. I am absolutely convinced, Mr. Harding, that nothing would induce Fay to take any action that would lead to — well, this sort of unpleasantness."
He met her look. "Quite, Miss Fawcett. Tell me, did you see the cut on Guest's wrist yesterday?"
"No, of course I didn't. Camilla and Fay yapped at him to show it them, but naturally he wouldn't do any such thing. He's frightfully he-mannish, is Stephen. Loathes a fuss."
"And the Hallidays?"
"She's a gold-digger, and he's nervy and a bit jealous. Dotes on her."
"Mrs. Twining?"
"Mrs. Twining?" repeated Dinah. "What do you want to know about her?"
"Anything you can tell me," said Harding.
"I don't think I can. I hardly know her. She's an old friend of Arthur's, and she came to live here about a year after he did. I've always imagined that she could tell some pretty ripe tales about him if she wanted to because he was much more polite to her than to anyone else."
"Do you know why it was she who went to fetch the General on to the terrace?"
"Yes, of course I do. She came specially to talk to him about Geoffrey, because she was about the only person he'd listen to. That's what makes me think he was a bit afraid of her."
"Is there a Mr. Twining?"
"Colonel. He's dead."
"I see. Tell me what happened when she went to the General's study. How long was she gone?"
Dinah pondered this. "I'm not sure. We were all talking. I should think, about five minutes, or even a little longer."
"And when she came back-was she very much upset:'
"Yes, I think she was. In fact, I'm certain she was. She's awfully self-controlled, and doesn't give away much but she looked pretty queer. I'm not surprised: she actually touched Arthur before she realised he was dead, and her glove was all over blood. Luckily she's strong-minded enough not to have fainted on the spot."
Harding nodded rather absently. He did not say anything for a minute or two, and Miss Fawcett. respecting this mood of abstraction, sat and studied him in silence. Aware presently of her clear gaze, he glanced down at her, and smiled. "Has Billington-Smith broken off his engagement to Miss de Silva?" he asked.
"He says he's had a revulsion of feeling," replied Dinah. "It's all rather trying (though quite humorous), because the mere sight of Lola sends him flying, and she's got a habit of tracking him down and — and wreathing her arms round him, so to speak."
"His passion for the lady seems to have been somewhat transient," remarked Harding dryly.
"Well, she turned him down first, you know," Dinah pointed out.
"So she did," agreed Harding and stood up.
"Inquisition over?" inquired Miss Fawcett.
"The inquisition is over for today," said Harding.
"I see!" said Miss Fawcett sapiently. "Thumbscrews not yet arrived." She rose, and stood facing him. "I wish the murderer hadn't got to be discovered, but I quite see that he must be, and I hope you find him quickly. Because the sort of atmosphere of suspicion and suspense we're living in now is utterly unnerving. Moreover, the sooner we get the house cleared of all these ill-assorted visitors, the better it will be for my sister. By the way, am I under lock and key too, or can I leave the place?"
There was a slight pause. "I've no shadow of right to keep you here, Miss Fawcett," said Harding. "At the same time I wish very much that you would stay."
"Oh, I'm going to! All I meant was, can I go into Ralton to do the shopping, and pay the bills?"
"Of course you can. Go anywhere you like," said Harding.
"Thanks very much. And one other thing, Mr. Harding: if you want anything at any time — to be shown round, or to ask any question — do you think you could send for me, and not my sister? She's dreadfully shattered by all this, and I want to keep her out of it as much as I can."
"I will," promised Harding. "But I shall want both your sister and her stepson to be present tomorrow when the safe is opened. Do you know what train the General's solicitor is coming by?"
"Do you mean to say Geoffrey didn't tell you that" demanded Miss Fawcett "Really, he is the most unreliable ass I know! The solicitor arrives at ten-fifty at Ralton Station. His name is Tremlowe. I'll see Fay and Geoffrey are on the spot when you're ready for them. Do you want to see anyone else now?"
"No, I'm going to relieve you of my presence for today, Miss Fawcett. I shall be back in the morning."
"Au revoir, then," said Dinah, holding out her hand. The Sergeant, a forgotten spectator, watched the handshake with dawning suspicion. Inspector Harding closed the door behind Miss Fawcett, and stood for an instant, a little smile lurking at the back of his eyes. The Sergeant, his suspicion growing, said with some severity "A very pleasant-spoken lady, sir. Very helpful."
Harding looked up quickly, and a tinge of colour stole into his face. "I thought she might be," he said, walking back to the table and collecting his papers into a bundle.
"Yes, sir," said the Sergeant. "What I should call a nice looking young lady too."
"Quite," said Inspector Harding casually.