"You mean, Chief - you mean that the victim was not expecting the murderer to attack him?" said Pershore slowly.
"Well, I don't myself expect to be murdered when I sit down to a game of Bridge with a party of friends. It may have happened just like you think, but to my mind, the chair's too close to the window for anyone to hide himself behind the curtain without attracting his victim's attention when he came out. If there wasn't a rustle, anyone sitting there, at an angle to the window, would be bound to see the curtain move, out of the corner of his eye. In which case, he'd have had time to have put up a bit of a struggle, at the very least. No sign of any struggle here, not a vestige. A nice, neat job, that's what I call it."
"It is a cruel, wicked murder!" said Inspector Grant severely.
"You only say that because you don't like strangling cases. All murders are wicked. I've seen a lot more cruel than this one, and so have you." He watched the shrouded body of Seaton-Carew carried out of the room on a stretcher, and said: "That's better: now we can get on! What I want to know now, Pershore -"
"The suspected persons are being detained -"
"What I want to know now," repeated Hemingway, "is why this character, who lives in Jermyn Street, gets rung up in somebody else's house. In fact, is it established that he was rung up?"
"Naturally that point had occurred to me, Chief Inspector. It appears that the murdered man himself arranged to have the call put through to this house, and mentioned the matter when at dinner, in the hearing of the five other people seated at the table. The butler states that he was not in the dining-room at the time, and knew nothing about the arrangement. I've got no reason to disbelieve him so far," said Pershore darkly, "but he's not a good witness."
"I daresay you didn't handle him right: there's a knack in examining butlers. So, on the face of it, only five people knew this call was coming through? Quite enough to be going on with too. Who answered the 'phone? The butler?"
"Miss Birtley states that she answered it, in this room. It was a Personal Call for the murdered man, from Doncaster."
"Have it traced, Sandy."
"At the time when it came- through, the murdered man was playing at one of the tables in the library, which is the room directly underneath this one. There were eight other tables in the drawing-room, which occupies the whole of the first floor; and barring Mrs. Haddington, and one of the guests, whom I will come to in due course, no one left that room during the period in question. We checked up carefully on that, and there doesn't seem to be any doubt about it, for they were all playing this Bridge-game, and nobody could have left the room without the three other people at his table remembering it. The names and addresses were taken, of course, but I saw no reason to detain anyone but this Sydney Butterwick I was speaking about."
"Quite right. Go on!"
The Inspector once more consulted his notes. "Miss Birtley's story is that when she came out of this room, with the intention of summoning Mr. Seaton-Carew to the telephone, Mrs. Haddington had come out of the drawing-room on to the landing above this. Mrs. Haddington, according to Miss Birtley, showed annoyance when she heard the call was for Mr. Seaton-Carew, but told Miss Birtley to go and fetch him up to take it. In this, Mrs. Haddington concurs. She then told Miss Birtley to keep an eye on things while she went up to her room, which is on the second floor. Miss Birtley then went down to the library, where the murdered man was playing -"
"Look, I thought you'd shaken off that habit!" objected Hemingway. "Stick to the man's name! If you're going to talk about the murdered man playing Bridge you'll give me the creeps!"
"Very well, Chief Inspector. What I was about to say when interrupted was, where the - Mr. Seaton-Carew was playing Bridge at one of the tables. At the same table were Miss Guisborough, who was his partner, and is twin sister to Lord Guisborough, also in the library at the time; Mr. Godfrey Poulton; and a foreign lady, calling herself Baroness -" He drew a breath, and enunciated painstakingly: "Baroness Rozhdesvenskiy!"
"How much?"
The Inspector displayed his printed note. "I got her to spell it, and the way I said it is the way she did."
"It may be, but if you take my advice you won't say it any more, or you'll have people thinking you've got something the matter with you. As far as I'm concerned, she's the Baroness. Don't tell me! She's a Russian, and talked you silly! Let's get back to Miss Birtley's story!"
"Miss Birtley states that a moment or two after Mr. Seaton-Carew left the library, during which time she emptied a couple of ashtrays, and replaced them, she went up to the drawing-room, picking up on the way a tray containing a whisky-and-soda, which she had put down on the chair outside this door when she originally answered the call. This she carried to a Colonel Cartmel, in the drawing-room, setting it down on a small table at his elbow. The Colonel more or less corroborated this, saying that he did not remember Miss Birtley doing it, but found the glass there when next he looked round. He was playing the hand at the time, and Miss Birtley did not speak to him. The other people at the table seem to think they remember seeing Miss Birtley put the glass down, but they are what I should call vague about it. Miss Birtley states that she lingered for a minute or two in the drawing-room, saw that one of the cigarette-boxes was nearly empty, and went downstairs to fetch up a fresh supply from a cupboard in the dining-room. In the dining-room, she states that she found Mr. Butterwick, drinking a whisky-and-soda, supplied to him by the butler. She did not exchange any words with him, but got out the cigarettes, and went back to the drawing-room. That," said Inspector Pershore, "is her story."
"And why have you got it in for her?" asked Hemingway, who had been watching him closely.
"I hope I have not got it in for anyone, Chief Inspector, but I should describe Miss Birtley as a very unsatisfactory witness. What is more, I have reason to think that she was concealing part of the truth from me. She was hostile, for one thing. Very unwilling to answer my questions, and very anxious to make me believe she hadn't had time to have murdered Mr. Seaton-Carew - which it's my belief she had, only one person corroborating her story that she lingered for a minute or two in the library when Seaton-Carew had left it. And I didn't set much store by that, because it was as plain as a pikestaff he'd have corroborated anything she chose to say! The rest of the people in the library say they don't remember, that she was in and out a good many times during the evening. Also, I had occasion to ask her if she noticed whether Mr. Butterwick seemed at all agitated. She said she didn't notice anything about him that was unusual, but the butler says nobody could have failed to have noticed it, because he looked very queer and jumpy, didn't seem to pay much attention to what was said to him, and drank off a couple of doubles before you could say Jack Robinson."
"Before we come to him," said Hemingway, "what's Mrs. Haddington's evidence?"
"Mrs. Haddington states that after Miss Birtley had set off downstairs to fetch Seaton-Carew to the telephone, she was just going up to her room when she found that Mr. Butterwick had come out of the drawingroom, and was standing behind her. He said he was going down to the dining-room to get himself a drink, play having finished at his table. She then went on up to her bedroom, and cannot state whether he went straight downstairs or not. She remained in her room for a few minutes only - uncorroborated, except that one or two people in the drawing-room say she wasn't gone for long - and then returned to the drawing-room, which she did not again leave until after the murder had been discovered. Mr. Butterwick tells the same story. He says he left Mrs. Haddington going upstairs, and himself went running down to the dining-room. He did not meet either Seaton-Carew or Miss Birtley and that, Chief Inspector, is where I think he's lying. He also states that he didn't hear any of the conversation between Mrs. Haddington and Miss Birtley about this telephone-call, and that's another lie, or I'm much mistaken. He stayed in the dining-room, and came back into the drawing-room just as Sir Roderick Vickerstown was leaving it to find out what was keeping Seaton-Carew. Corroborated by Sir Roderick. The b
utler doesn't know when he left the dining-room, because he himself had gone down to his pantry while Mr. Butterwick was still there."
"I see. And has this Butterwick any reason for killing Seaton-Carew?"
"To my mind, he's got more reason than anyone else," said Pershore. "By what I've gathered, and from the looks of him I don't find it hard to believe, he used to be very thick with Seaton-Carew, and always flying into tantrums if ever Seaton-Carew paid too much attention to anyone else."
"Oh, a homosexual, is he? Of course, I would have to strike a case with one of them in it!"
The Inspector looked down his nose. "That is how he seems to me, and it's what I've been given to understand. But the butler, and Mrs. Haddington's personal maid, both state that Seaton-Carew was after Miss Cynthia Haddington, which was not at all what Mrs. Haddington wished, for he was as old as she was, and, what's more, he was very intimate with her. But that," he added austerely, "is uncorroborated gossip."
"Nice goings-on!" commented Hemingway. "Where are we getting to? Did Mrs. Haddington strangle Seaton-Carew because he was making up to her daughter, or did Butterwick do it for the same reason?"
"Well," said Pershore, "it's only fair to state that both the butler and the parlourmaid say that after dinner tonight Mrs. Haddington and Seaton-Carew were alone together in the library, and it sounded as if they were having some kind of a dispute — to put it no higher. And Miss Haddington says that when Butterwick arrived he found her talking to Seaton-Carew in the back drawingroom, and created a scene. She says he flew into a rage, and she was afraid he was going to do something silly, he was so upset. Lady Nest Poulton more or less agrees with that, though she didn't hear the actual words that passed between him and Seaton-Carew. She just says he seemed to be upset, but it wasn't anything out of the way with him. A Miss Cheadle, who was his partner, says that she thought he had something on his mind, but she knew nothing about the quarrel with Seaton-Carew."
"Oh!" said Hemingway. "Did Miss Birtley have a row with this Seaton-Carew as well?"
"According to the servants, Miss Birtley has always disliked him, and made no bones about showing it. He and she arrived at the house together tonight, and when the butler opened the door to them it was plain Miss Birtley was very angry with Seaton-Carew. He was laughing, and taunting her, by what the butler could make out, and she said something of a threatening nature about being determined as well as cruel, and he'd better not be too sure of something."
"Yes, that's the sort of evidence that makes me wish I'd gone in for lorry-driving, or something easy. Any more people who had a silly quarrel with this popular number?"
"No, not exactly," replied Pershore. "But it seems that Lord Guisborough couldn't stand him - in fact, he as good as told me so. He's in love with Miss Haddington too, but he's accounted for: he was playing Bridge at one of the tables in the library, and he never left the room till the murder had been discovered. None of them did, at his table."
"What a shame!" said Hemingway. "Quite my fancy, he was. I've never arrested a lord yet, and he seems to have got just as much motive as anyone else I've heard of so far. What about the rest of the gang in the library?"
"Two only left the room while Seaton-Carew was absent. Mr. Poulton, who was playing at his table, went out to get a breather - they all agree it was a bit stuffy in the room by that time. He states that he strolled along the hall to the front-door, and stood for a moment or two at the top of the steps. Then he went back to the library, visiting the cloakroom on the way. No corroboration."
"Any motive either?"
"Not," said the Inspector, "that I have been able to discover."
"That's fine: we'd better fasten on him," said Hemingway.
"Fasten on him?" repeated the Inspector, staring.
"Well, I'd rather have no motive at all than the lot I've been listening to. Who else left the library?"
"Mr. Harte. He was playing with Miss Haddington, against Mr. and Mrs. Kenelm Guisborough, who are by way of being Lord Guisborough's cousins. Some minutes after Mr. Poulton had gone out, Mr. Harte became dummy, and he too left the room. He met Mr. Poulton coming out of the cloakroom."
"And what did he do?"
"According to his story, he too went into the cloakroom. Mr. Harte has no apparent motive - so perhaps you'd prefer to fasten on him, Chief Inspector!" said Pershore, with heavy sarcasm.
"You know, every time you say that name it rings a bell with me," said Hemingway, frowning. "But for the life of me I can't place it. Harte - Harte - I know I've met it before!"
"He is a nice-looking young gentleman," offered Pershore. "In the late twenties, I should say. He's a barrister, so perhaps that's how you come to know of him."
Hemingway shook his head. "No, that's not it. Oh, well! Perhaps I'll remember when I see him."
"He is being detained in the drawing-room, along with Miss Birtley, Mr. Butterwick, Mr. Poulton, and Dr Westruther. Dr. Westruther, being a scorer, was in the library when Seaton-Carew left it, and went up to the drawing-room to inform them there of the cause of the delay in the game before the discovery of the murder. Dr Westruther states that he had not met Seaton-Carew previous to this evening."
"Well, what do you want to go detaining him for?" demanded Hemingway. "A nice temper he'll be in by this time!"
"Properly speaking, I did not detain him. He remained of his own choice, or perhaps Mrs. Haddington asked him to, Miss Haddington being a good deal upset - quite hysterical, she was, at first, but he got her calmed down."
"Thank God for that, at all events! What I'd better do is to see these people, and get rid of those who don't belong here, or we shall have them pitching complaints in about the way they were kept up all night for no reason. What about the servants? Are they sitting up too?"
"Only the butler and the parlourmaid. None of the others was unaccounted for at the time, being in the servants' hall, and the kitchen."
"Sandy, go and talk to them, and pack them off to bed! One last thing before I give your suspects the once-over, Pershore! Anyone know where that bit of picture-wire that was used for the job came from?"
"The wire, Chief Inspector, is part of a coil bought this morning - that is to say, yesterday morning - by Miss Birtley, at Mrs. Haddington's instigation. Some of it she used to make what I understand to be a kind of flowerholder; and the rest she left on a shelf in the cloakroom."
"In full view of any of the gentlemen who went into the cloakroom, I suppose?"
"Yes," said the Inspector, considering it. "Anyone washing his hands, or maybe straightening his tie in the mirror, would be pretty well bound to see it, if she left it where she says she did."
"It gets easier and easier, doesn't it?" said Hemingway.
"It doesn't strike me that way. And not one of them did see it. Or, if they did, they won't own to it," said the Inspector.
Chapter Eight
A group of six people was assembled in the front half of the drawing-room, from which the card tables had been removed. The velvet curtains had been drawn across the archway leading into the back drawing-room, and the fire was burning brightly in the grate. The room presented a comfortable, if slightly overopulent, appearance, but nothing could have looked less comfortable than five of the six persons disposed round the fire. In one corner of a sofa, Mrs. Haddington sat bolt upright, staring into the flames, her thin, ringed hands tightly clasping her fan. She had risen magnificently to the occasion, when first the body of her old friend had been discovered, her social instincts prevailing over more primitive emotions; but the effort of carrying off an entirely unprecedented situation, coupled with the rapid collapse of her daughter into strong hysterics, had levied a toll on her vitality. She looked haggard, every muscle on the stretch, as though it was only by a supreme .exercise of will-power that she refrained from breakingdown. Beside her, occasionally glancing at his wristwatch, and imperfectly stifling a yawn, sat Dr Westruther, wondering why he had allowed his nobility to lead him to announce that he would rem
ain on the premises until the arrival of "the man from Scotland Yard'. He had not, of course, supposed that this would be so long delayed.
Opposite the sofa, in a deep armchair with wings, Mr. Godfrey Poulton sat, contemptuously flicking over the pages of a weekly periodical, yawning quite openly, and presenting the appearance of one who ought to have been in bed several hours earlier. A little withdrawn from the fire, and seated limply in a chair, her eyes shaded by her hand, was Miss Birtley. Her other hand ceaselessly kneaded her handkerchief. Completing the circle, were Mr. Sydney Butterwick, and Mr. Timothy Harte. Mr. Butterwick's first reactions to the tragedy had rivalled Cynthia's in intensity and dramatic expression. From these transports of unbridled and slightly spirituous emotion, he had passed into a mood of such distressing despair, that Mr. Harte, the only unaffected member of the party, had exerted himself, partly from pity and partly from dislike of watching adult males weeping bitterly, to divert his mind. The task had been a difficult one, but Timothy had persevered, to such good effect that by the time Chief Inspector Hemingway walked into the room Sydney had been coaxed into his paramount hobby, and was passionately assuring Timothy that Giselle was the only real test of a classical dancer's art.
Inspector Pershore ushered Hemingway into the room, announcing that the Chief Inspector wanted to have a word with its occupants.
"Good-evening!" Hemingway said cheerfully, his tone a welcome contrast to the accents of officialdom assumed by his subordinate. "I'm afraid you've been kept waiting a long time, and I'm sorry about that."
"Good God!" said Mr. Harte, staring at him between narrowed eyelids. "You're the Sergeant!"
It seemed, from Inspector Pershore's alarming demeanour, that he only awaited a sign from the Chief Inspector to take Mr. Harte instantly into custody; but Hemingway, regarding Mr. Harte with interest and surprise, gave no such sign. "Well, I was once, but I've been promoted," he replied. "Did you happen to know me when I was a Sergeant, sir?"
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