The Unfinished Clue (10 page)

He, and the doctor, the photographer, and the plainclothes man, who turned out to be the finger-print expert, all followed the Superintendent into the study, and remained there for a very long time.

At half past four Fay came downstairs. She had changed into a black frock, which had the effect of enhancing her pallor. Her eyes still had that strained, dilated look, as though they were haunted, but her manner was carefully controlled. She took her usual place behind the tea-tray, and said with an effort: "It was nice of you to stay, Julia. I'm afraid it has all been very - very horrid for you. I find I can't quite realise it yet. It doesn't seem to be possible, somehow. Have they - have they finished yet? Did they find anything to show - to give them any clue, do you know? I feel so certain myself that it must have been someone from outside. The windows were open, after all, and - Arthur made a great many enemies. Don't you think so, Julia? Don't you, Dinah?"

Geoffrey set down his cup and saucer with an unsteady hand. "I suppose you mean you think I did it?" he said. "Well, it may interest you to know that I wasn't anywhere near the house."

Fay looked distressed. "Oh no, no, I didn't mean that!" she said. "Of course I didn't mean that!" She looked up as Stephen Guest entered the room, and in that fleeting moment Dinah read the dread in her eyes. Then Fay said quietly: "Ah, here you are, Stephen. I was just going to ask Geoffrey to tell you tea was ready."

The Hallidays came in at that moment. Camilla had solved the problem of dress, apparently to her satisfaction, by putting on a brown frock instead of the pale blue one she had worn all the morning. She looked though she had been crying, and seemed rather subdued.

There was nothing subdued about Lola, who presently sailed into the room dressed in the deepest of mourning.

Any stranger entering the room would certainly have taken her for the widow, and not Fay. She wore a long, trailing robe of some dead-black material, without any ornament at all, and carried a handkerchief with a dark black hem. Where she could have found such a thing. in a moment's notice Dinah could not imagine. She was forced to the conclusion that either it must belong to the faithful Concetta, or the inky border had been hastily stitched to an ordinary white handkerchief.

"I am quite upset," she announced. "You can feel how my heart is beating, altogether too fast. I have seen that they have taken away the corpse of Geoffrey's papa. It has made me feel extremely sad, quite overcome. And I must tell you that it is very painful to me that the policemen who stand in the hall should stare at me as though they think it is I who have stabbed Geoffrey's papa. I have told the fat policeman that he cannot at all prove that I am an assassin, but he is, I think, a fool, since he will only open his mouth like a fish, and not answer me when I speak."

Her auditors were spared the necessity of replying to this address by the entrance of Finch, who came to tell Fay that the Chief Constable would like to speak to her and to Geoffrey.

They both went out, Geoffrey saying: "I wonder what he wants to see me for? I suppose, though I hadn't thoght of it before, that now Father's dead I'm the head of the family. I suppose that's it."

The Chief Constable was looking more worried than ever. The Superintendent, who was standing beside him, with his thumbs tucked into a belt of quite enormous span, had a profoundly dissatisfied look in his eye, and stared hard at a painting over the fireplace in a glassy way that gave the impression that he had entirely dissociated himself from any subsequent proceedings.

The sight of Fay made Major Grierson dab his nose a great many times in succession. He said: "Ah, Lady Billington-Smith! Quite. Er - a very bad business. I assure you I - er —- feel for you most deeply. Now, Mr - er - Billington-Smith, we have come to the conclusion, the Superintendent and I - yes, yes, Superintendent! We have come to the conclusion, as I say, that this is a case where it will be - er - advisable to call in Scotland Yard."

"Scotland Yard?" repeated Geoffrey. "Do you mean we've got to have detectives down? But I say — I mean, is that absolutely necessary?"

The Superintendent brought his aloof gaze down from The Fighting Temeraire, and bent it sternly upon Geoffrey.

Major Grierson's manner became still more impersonal. "I should not, Mr. Billington-Smith, do anything that was in my - er - opinion unnecessary. Now you will understand, of course, that no one must enter the room where the - er - in short, the study. Quite. The Superintendent will leave two of his men - er — on duty. I understand that you have guests in the house. None of these must leave until after the - er - visit of the Yard Inspector. Yes, Superintendent, what is it?"

"In the matter of Mrs. Twining, sir," said the Superintendent woodenly, "who, if agreeable, desires to return to Blessington House, which same being her residence in the vicinity."

"Mrs. Twining, yes. Well, I think in the case of Mrs. Twining, since she lives close - er - at hand, there would be no objection. She will understand, of course, that she must hold herself in - er readiness to be here to answer any further questions which the Yard Inspector may want to put to her. Naturally." He dabbed afresh at his nose "And - er - one other matter, Mr. Billington-Smith. The Inspector will want to see the - er - safe in the study opened. That should be done by your - er - late father's solicitor. Perhaps you will arrange for him to cone down for that purpose. I think that is all at - er - present ."

"Yes, but surely it can't be necessary - I mean, it'll be a most awful nuisance having to stay cooped up here with a lot of policemen on guard," objected Geoffrey. "I shouldn't have thought it would be so frightfully diflicult to find out who murdered Father - not that I'm criticising, of course, but -"

Fay pressed his hand. "Geoffrey, if Major Grierson thinks it necessary, of course — of course it must be done." she said almost inaudibly. "We we quite understand. Major. And you want my husband's solicitor to come down. Yes, I - see. Geoffrey, you'll telephone to him, won't you?"

Chapter Seven

Inspector Harding, of Scotland Yard, arrived at Ralton shortly before two o'clock on Tuesday afternoon, and drove straight to the police station. Here he was awaited by Superintendent Lupton and Sergeant Nethersole. The Superintendent, who was fifty years of age, with scant grey locks, a red and somewhat fierce face, and a waist measurement of fifty inches, looked forward to Inspector Harding's advent with considerable hostility. It was not that he really wanted to handle this case up at the Grange. He would not go so far as to say that he thought it beyond his powers, but he could see that it was going to mean a lot of work, awkward work too, what with the General having been a big pot in the neighbourhood, and her ladyship giving away the prizes at the Police Sports only a week ago - not that he held with all these sports, and football teams and he didn't know what beside. They hadn't had them in his young days in the Force, and nobody need think he was going to encourage the young chaps in his division to waste their time over such-like nonsense, because he wasn't. A quiet set-down in a cosy bar with a mug of beer had always been good enough for him in his off time, and still was, though naturally as you got older you needed more than one mug of beer. But that was neiter here nor there, and whether he approved of sports for the police or not, it would be an awkward job handling this case, a very awkward job it would be. But that wasn't to say he wanted one of those sharp Yard chaps poking his nose into everything, and trying to teach him his business. If he saw any signs of uppishness he'd put Mr Inspector Know-All in his place pretty quick, and no mistake about it.

Sergeant Nethersole, an earnest and painstaking man of thirty-seven, awaited Inspector Harding's arrival with quite different feelings. He was a diffident person, very anxious to make his way in the Force. It had never fallen to his lot to work with the Yard till now, or, in fact, to encounter anything more exciting in his career than a few road accidents, and two cases of burglary. They offered very little scope for a man with ambition, and when he found that he had been detailed to assist Inspector Harding in his inquiries he was very much gratified, and made up his mind closely to observe the methods of detection employed by one of those clever London chaps. He was a large man, with a somewhat wooden face. His round blue eyes had a trick of staring fixedly at any handy object whenever he was thinking particularly deeply. He was slow of utterance, and slower still to wrath. No one could ever remember to have seen Sergeant Nethersole give way even to a momentary annoyance, and, unlike the Superintendent, he never bullied his subordinates.

When the Inspector arrived, and was conducted to the Superintendent's Office, the Sergeant got up out of his chair, and stared at him unwaveringly for quite two minutes. He had not the least desire to offend; he was mearly getting to know Inspector Harding. His gaze might appear bovine, but his methodical mind was absorrbing a number of facts about the Inspector.

Not at all what he had expected. That was the first thing he thought. One of these public-school men, he rather fancied. You could always tell. A quiet-mannered chap, good steady pair of eyes that looked at you fair and square. I like a chap who can look you in the face, thought the Sergeant, never realising that there were few with nerves hardy enough to meet unflinchingly his own stare.

He wasn't one of these testy old-stagers, either, nor yet whipper-snapper. He'd be about his own age, he wouldn't wonder. Just the sort of chap to handle the nobs at the Grange, being, as you could see, one of the gentry himself. He didn't know how it would be, working with him, he was sure, but on the whole he was bound to say he liked the look of him.

The Inspector walked across the room and shook hands with the Superintendent. "Good afternoon, Superintendent. I hope I haven't kept you waiting," he said. Then he turned, encountering the gaze of Sergeant Nethersole, and shook hands with him too, giving back stare for stare.

Well! thought the Superintendent, that's what we're coming to, is it? Nice set-out when they take to sending down la-di-da Percies from the Yard. A fat lot of use he'd be, all stuffed up with a college education, and like as not trying to come the lord over everybody. Not but what he spoke nice enough, quite respectful and polite, but you never knew.

"Well, Inspector Harding," he said patronisingly, "so you've come down to take over the case for us!"

"Not to take it over, surely, Superintendent? I understand that you are in charge of the case."

The Superintendent's eye became a shade less frosty"That's right," he said. "Naturally, me being Superintendent of the district, it's my business to have charge of the case. But of course I'm not as young as I was, and me and the Chief Constable, we put our heads together and came to the conclusion that what we wanted was someone to lend a hand, it being a lot to ask of a man of my years to take on a case like this one single-handly. That's how it is."

"My instructions are to give you all the assistance. I can," said the Inspector. "I understand it's rather a awkward case for a local man to deal with."

Really, that was very handsomely spoken, very handsomely spoken indeed that was. "Well, that's where it is".said the Superintendent, thawing almost visibly. "It is awkward, and that's the truth. Now, what we'd better do is to get down to it right away; you and me, and Sergeant Nethersole here, whom I've detailed to work with you while you're on the case."

"Right," said the Inspector, and drew up a chair and sat down.

The tale which the Superintendent began to unfold was neither concise nor easy to be followed, but the, Inspector seemed to grasp its main outlines, and except for one or two interruptions when he asked apologetically to have some point more fully explained, he heard it more or less in silence.

The Sergeant, seated with his large hands clasped between his knees, thought: Lupton's getting beyond it, that's what. Fair rigmarole it must be to anyone not acquainted with the General and his family. What's he want to go reading bits out of all them statements for? jumping from one person to the other without making it plain who any of them are, instead of telling the Inspector, quiet-like, the facts of the case, and leaving him to read the statements for himself. Patient sort of chap he seems to be; picks up points pretty quick too.

Inspector Harding allowed the Superintendent to talk himself out. Then he said: "I see. Let's be sure that I've got the main facts right - I'm afraid the identities of the various people in the case are a bit beyond me at present. General Billington-Smith entered his study at ten minutes to twelve. At five minutes past twelve the butler went through the hall to the front door, and heard what he took to be a quarrel going on between the General and a member of the house-party."

"Mr. Halliday," nodded the Superintendent. "Unhealthy looking gentleman, he is. What I call fidgety, if you know what I mean. Very much on the jump, I thought to myself. No occupation, which is fishy, if you look at it that way. Lost his job, if you ask me."

The Inspector waited until this excursion into the realms of conjecture was over. Then he said: "And he, I think you said, admits that he did enter the study somewhere about twelve o'clock, and had a disagreement with the General, on a subject which he prefers not to disclose. He doesn't know when he left the study, but thinks he was not there more than a quarter of an hour at the most. He then went up to his room, and joined the rest of the party on the terrace about ten minutes later. So far as you know, he was the last person to see the General alive. A few minutes before one o'clock Mrs. Mrs." - he glanced down at one of the many sheets of paper laid before him - "Mrs. Twining went to fetch the General to join the party on the terrace for a cocktail According to her story she found him dead at his desk. She bent over him, saw that he had been stabbed, and that there was nothing she could do, and returned to the terrace to break the news. Have I got that right?"

"You've got it right as far as it goes," replied the Superintendent disparagingly. "But there's a lot more to it than that, I can tell you. You've left out the movement of all these visitors staying in the house for one thing."

"Until I've had time to read the statements over carefully I think I'd better confine myself to the main outline. Superintendent. May I see the doctor's reports?"

The Superintendent hunted through a sheaf of documents, and handed two typewritten sheets of foolscap across the desk. "Here you are. You'll want to have thc photographs too," he added, producing these.

"Thanks." Inspector Harding took the prints, and laid them down, without raising his eyes from the report in his hand. He read in silence for a minute or two, while the Superintendent and the Sergeant watched him. Then he looked up. "I see. He was stabbed from behind as he sat at his desk, with a Chinese dagger used by him as a paper-knife, the knife entering the neck below the right ear, and severing the carotid artery. Death, in the opinion of' - he consulted the first report - "Dr Raymond, occurring within a minute, possibly less. No finger-prints?"

The Superintendent shook his head. "No, that's just what makes it difficult for us. Nowadays people are so knowing, what with story books about murders and I don't know what besides, that they're up to all the dodges. Whoever done this murder took care to wear gloves. That's all this talk of progress leads to, putting people up to them sort of tricks," he said bitterly, and opened a drawer in the desk, and extracted from it the chinese dagger. "That's it. Exhibit No. l," he said. "Nasty looking to keep lying about, I call it."

The Inspector took the knife, which was a thin blade set in a carved ivory handle, and held it for a moment in his hand. "Very nasty," he agreed, and gave it back.

"Exhibit No. 2," proceeded the Superintendent, handing over a sheet of note-paper. "Found under the deceased's hand, like as if he might have written on it just before he died."

"That's interesting," said the Inspector.

"Well, I don't know so much about that. The Divisional Surgeon, he holds to the opinion that Sir Arthur wouldn't have had time to write anything after the blow was struck. On the other hand, Dr Raymond thinks that he could. That's what it is with doctors. What with one saying one thing, and another arguing it could have happened different, you never know where you are. And it doesn't seem to me to lead anywhere, that bit of paper. Well, I mean, look at it!"

The Inspector was looking at it. Scrawled in pencil across a half-sheet of engraved note-paper was the word "There'. There was no more; the faint pencil mark tailed off, as though the pencil had dropped suddenly from nerveless fingers.

"To my mind it doesn't lead anywhere," grumbled the Superintendent. "There what? The way I look at it is this, Supposing Sir Arthur was starting out to write somethüng when suddenly he gets stabbed from behind? There is nothing to show he wrote it after he'd been stabbed."

"Except that the word is scrawled crookedly across the paper," suggested the Inspector. "I should like to keep this, if I may, Superintendent."

"Oh, you can have it," said the Superintendent generously. "It's about all there is to have, what's more. Not but what something may turn up, because the Chief Constable was very set on having nothing disturbed in the room where the murder took place, so there hasn't been what I call a proper search."