"Of course I did!" said Timothy, rising, and going towards him, with his hand held out. "You probably don't remember me, but don't you remember the Kane case?"
A blinding light flooded the Chief Inspector's brain. "Harte!" he exclaimed. "I said it rang a bell! Well, well, well, if it isn't Terrible -"He broke off, for once in his life confused.
"Terrible Timothy," supplied Mr. Harte. "I expect I was, too. How are you? I should have known you anywhere!"
"I'm bound to say I shouldn't have known you, sir," said Hemingway, warmly shaking him by the hand. "If you don't mind my saying so, a nice nuisance you were in those days! And how's that brother of yours? I hope no one's been trying to bump him off since I saw him last?"
"Only Jerry. He lost a leg at Monte Cassino, but otherwise he's flourishing. Got four kids, too."
"You don't say! Well, time certainly does fly! When I think that it seems only yesterday you were a nipper yourself, sir, driving me mad trying to help me solve that case - well, it doesn't seem possible!"
"I do seem fated to be embroiled in murders, don't I?" agreed Timothy. "Only this time I'm suspect, you know!"
"Yes," said Hemingway severely, "and from what I remember of you, sir, that'ud just about suit your book, that would! Of course, I was handicapped on the Kane case, you being only a kid, but things are different now, and I give you fair warning, if you start getting funny with me I shall know what to do. Because the more I look at you, the more I see you haven't changed so very much after all!"
This interchange, though revolting to Inspector Pershore, insensibly brought about a relaxation of tension amongst the rest of the company. It was felt that if young Mr. Harte stood upon such friendly terms with the man from Scotland Yard the mantle of his popularity might well be stretched to cover some at least of his fellow-suspects. Spirits rose, only to be depressed again by the Chief Inspector's next words. Still speaking in a tone of the warmest approbation, he said: "I'll have to come and hear all about what you've been up to since I saw you last, sir. Now, Inspector Pershore's got your address, so that I shall know where to find you, if I should happen to want to ask you any questions about this little affair; and it won't do for me to keep you hanging about here any longer tonight. The Inspector tells me you gave him your evidence very nicely: he's got it all down, so I won't waste your time asking you a whole lot of questions you've answered already."
Timothy grinned at him appreciatively. "Did you find me easy to get rid of when I was fourteen, Chief. Inspector?" he asked.
"No, sir, I did not, but I warned you things were different now! I can get rid of you fast enough."
"Oh, no, you can't!" retorted Timothy. "I'm Miss Birtley's legal adviser!"
This cool announcement had the effect of jerking Beulah's head up, and of causing Mrs. Haddington to look sharply first at her, and then at Timothy.
Beulah said in a disjointed way: "No, no! I don't need - I don't want - I'd much prefer that you didn't!"
"Yes, you would think up a crack like that, wouldn't you, sir?" said Hemingway. "All right, you stay! You won't worry me. And since you're here you may as well make yourself useful, and tell me who everyone is, so that the Inspector here needn't wait about any longer."
Inspector Pershore, who appeared to be more sensitive to suggestion than Mr. Harte, said: "If you have no further need of me, sir -"
"No, that's all, thank you, Inspector. I shall be seeing you later, I daresay," replied Hemingway affably.
The Inspector then withdrew, and Timothy made the remaining five persons present known to Hemingway. He favoured each in turn with his keen, bright look, but singled out Dr Westruther, saying: "You'll be wanting to get off home, doctor, and I'm not going to keep you. I think Inspector Pershore asked you everything, and I know where to get hold of you, if any point should arise that you might be able to help us over. I understand you were with Dr Yoxall when he inspected the body, and there wasn't any disagreement between you?"
"There could hardly have been any in this case," said the doctor. "Death must have occurred within a matter of seconds."
"Just so, sir! And Mr. Poulton is anxious to get home too, so I think it would be best if I asked him a few questions first. Now, sir, if you'll be so good!"
Godfrey Poulton, rising in a leisurely way from his chair, said: "Certainly, Chief Inspector," in his deep, rather cold voice, and followed Hemingway from the room.
"No objection to coming in here, I trust, sir," said Hemingway, opening the door into the boudoir. "It seems to be the only room that isn't full of playing-cards or prawn-patties."
"I have no objection, since I assume that -" Mr. Poulton paused, allowing his eye to fall upon the chair by the telephone. "Precisely," he said.
"Oh, no, that's all right!" Hemingway said, understanding his cryptic utterance. "I don't think I shall be keeping you for many minutes either, sir." He saw that Poulton was looking at his second-in-command, and said: "Inspector Grant. Sit down, sir! I understand you left the library at some time during Mr. Seaton-Carew's absence from it. I think I have all that in Inspector Pershore's notes. Was the deceased a friend of yours?"
Poulton shrugged. "Hardly that. I suppose I've met him half a dozen times."
The Chief Inspector, before entering the drawingroom, had read Pershore's voluminous notes, and he had an excellent memory for relative detail. "Did he visit your house, sir?"
"I daresay," Poulton replied, his heavy-lidded eyes dwelling indifferently on the Chief Inspector's face. "My wife entertains a great deal, but I am a very busy man, and I am not invariably present at her parties."
"Quite so, sir. Mr. Seaton-Carew was Lady Nest's friend rather than yours?"
"It would be more accurate to say that he was an acquaintance of hers. My wife originally met him through her friendship with Mrs. Haddington."
"Were you on good terms with him, sir?"
Again Poulton shrugged. "Certainly - though that's a somewhat exaggerated way of describing it. If you mean, had I quarrelled with him - No. If, on the other hand, you mean, did I like the man? Again, no."
"It's a funny thing about this Seaton-Carew," remarked Hemingway, "that he seems to have been a popular sort of a character, and yet he got himself murdered."
"Very funny," agreed Poulton. "Perhaps you are confusing popularity with usefulness. Unattached men, Chief Inspector, are greatly in demand amongst hostesses."
"Ah, very likely!" said Hemingway. "Well, it doesn't seem as though you can help me much, sir, so I won't keep you any longer."
Inspector Grant rose, and opened the door.
"Thank you," said Poulton. "I shall be glad to get to bed. I have a heavy day ahead of me. Good-night!"
The Inspector closed the door behind him, and glanced across at his superior. "You did not press him, Sir."
"No, I'm never one to waste my time. If you were to have given Mr. Godfrey Poulton the choice between having a sewer-rat loose in his house or the late Seaton-Carew, it's my belief he'd have chosen the rat. Make a note of Lady Nest: we'll see what she has to say. I'd better interview this Butterwick now. Fetch him down, Sandy!"
The Inspector lingered. "Would that one have had the time to have committed the murder, you think?"
"Any of them would have had time and to spare. In fact, this is one case where the time-factor isn't going to bother us - or help us either, for that matter! As far as I can make out, it was anything from ten to twenty minutes between Seaton-Carew's being called to the 'phone and Sir Roderick's finding him dead. How long do you reckon it would take you to nip up half a flight of stairs, twist a wire round a bloke's neck, and nip down again?"
"It is in my mind," said the Inspector, "that it would have been a strange thing for him to have gone into a room where he knew a man to be speaking on the telephone."
"You mean you think it would have put Seaton-Carew on his guard. It might, and it mightn't. Of course, if Seaton-Carew had reason to think Poulton wanted to do him in, I agree that you'd expect to find
some sign of a struggle. Supposing he hadn't? Supposing this Poulton-bird walked in, just said, "Excuse me!" as though he'd just come to fetch something?"
"Och, mo thruaighe!" exclaimed the Inspector. "What would he have come there to fetch, tell me that?"
"By the time Seaton-Carew had thought that one up," retorted Hemingway, "the wire was round his throat! Mind, I don't say it happened like that, but even if it didn't there's no need for you to make those noises, which I take to be highly insubordinate. Go and fetch that pansy down to me!"
Mr. Sydney Butterwick, ushered into the boudoir a few minutes later, flinched perceptibly, but seemed to have himself fairly well in hand. His face still bore traces of the emotions which had ravaged it, but he was able to smile, albeit a little nervously, at Hemingway, and to assure him that if he could possibly be of assistance to the police they could count upon his cooperation.
"I was devoted to Dan!" he said. "Utterly devoted to him! I suppose anyone will tell you that. In some ways, you know, he was rather a marvellous person. Slow extravert, of course, and I'm definitely a quick extravert, but with a certain amount of overlap, if you know what I mean. I suppose you might call me an intuitive extravert. I'd better tell you at once that I wasn't in the least blind about Dan! In fact, I recognised and accepted him for what he was. In some ways, I do absolutely agree that he was just a handsome brute, and I shan't deny for one moment that I used to quarrel with him quite terribly. As a matter of fact he upset me rather poignantly tonight, and it's the most ghastly thought that the last time I saw him I was furious with him! Well, not so much furious as wounded. Of course, I know I take things to heart too much: my type always does - I don't know if you've read Jung?"
Inspector Grant's gaze shifted to the Chief Inspector's face. The Chief Inspector had two hobbies: one was the Drama; and the other, which he pursued to the awe, amusement, and exasperation of his colleagues, was Psychology. He had listened amiably to Mr. Butterwick's flow of words, but at this challenge he lost patience. "Yes, and Wendt, Münsterburg, Freud, and Rosanoff as well!" he replied tartly. "That's how I know you don't belong to the Autistic Type. I haven't had time yet to decide whether you're Anti-Social, or Cyclothymic, but I daresay I'll make up my mind about that presently."
This unexpected rejoinder threw Sydney off his balance. He said, with a titter: "How marvellous to meet a policeman interested in psychology! I think I'm definitely the Anti-Social, or Hysteric Type. I mean, I haven't a single illusion about myself. It's fatal not to face up to oneself, isn't it? For instance, although I adore Michael Angelo I do realise that that's probably an expression of empathy-wish, in the same way that -"
"Sit down, sir!" said Hemingway.
Sydney obeyed him, passing a hand over his waving fair locks, and then mechanically straightening his tie. "Do ask me any questions you like!" he invited. "I shall answer them absolutely honestly!"
"That's very sensible of you, sir," said the Chief Inspector dryly. "Suppose you were to tell me, as a start, what was the cause of your quarrel with Mr. Seaton-Carew last night?"
"He had hurt me," replied Sydney simply.
"How did he manage to do that?"
"I hadn't seen him for three days, and he wouldn't speak to me on the telephone. That was the sort of thing he used to do, when he was in that mood. Teasing me, you know, but not really meaning to hurt. He told me once that I took life too hard, and I suppose it was true, but -"
"You thought he was sick of you, didn't you?" interrupted Hemingway ruthlessly. "Oh - ! Not really!"
Hemingway glanced at the notes under his hand. "You said to him, I suppose that means you're fed up with me! and he replied, All right, I am! Is that correct, sir?"
The colour rushed up to the roots of Sydney's hair. He exclaimed in a trembling voice: "How do I know what I said? I suppose you got that out of that little bitch of a Haddington girl!"
"Do you, sir? Why?"
"I've no doubt Cynthia Haddington imagines that just because he took a little notice of her Dan was in love with her!" said Sydney, trembling slightly, and quite ignoring the Chief Inspector's question. "Well, he wasn't! He wasn't! And if she's stuffed you up with some tale of my being jealous of her, it just makes me want to laugh! That's all!"
Anything further removed from laughter than Mr. Butterwick's aspect would have been hard to have found; but Hemingway, while making a mental note of this fact, forbore to pursue the matter. He merely requested Sydney to describe to him what had been his movements from the moment of his leaving his table to get himself a drink to the moment of his re-entry into the drawingroom.
"Oh, of course, if it interests you -" said Sydney, shrugging his shoulders.
"A Chruitheir!" uttered Inspector Grant under his breath.
"There's really nothing to tell," said Sydney. "We had finished playing that particular hand at my table, and I seized the opportunity to go down to the dining-room, that's all. I didn't see anyone, except the butler, if that's what you want to know."
"Didn't see anyone, sir? I understand that you had some conversation with Mrs. Haddington, at the top of the stairs."
"Oh, that! I thought you meant, did I see Dan, or anyone else, who might have killed him. Yes, I believe I did exchange a word or two with Mrs. Haddington, but I don't remember what was said. Quite unimportant, in any case."
"Was anyone else on the landing, or the stairs, when you came out of the drawing-room, sir?"
"I really don't remember. I don't think so."
"What was Mrs. Haddington doing on the landing?" "Good God, how should I know? She was going up to the second floor - in fact, she started to go up when I went down."
"Miss Birtley, I take it, had gone down before you followed her?"
"Yes - that is, I suppose she must have, because, to tell you the truth, I don't recall seeing her. I daresay she may have been there: I wouldn't notice. And, of course, since it all happened mere trivialities have passed from my mind."
"Did you hear the telephone-bell ringing, sir?"
"No, but I probably wouldn't, because it's got a muffled bell, and only makes a sort of burring noise."
"Is that so? How do you happen to know that, sir?" Sydney stared at him for a moment. The smile wavered on his lips. "Oh - oh, this isn't my first visit to the house!"
"I see. And you didn't hear it tonight, didn't know the call was for Mr. Seaton-Carew, and didn't hear anything that passed between Mrs. Haddington and Miss Birtley? I want to get this quite straight, sir, so that Inspector Grant can take it down accurately, and we shan't have to make a lot of corrections later."
Sydney glanced at the impassive Inspector, and from him to Hemingway. Once more he smoothed his hair.
"No, I don't know what they said. I mean, now you bring it to my mind I do seem to remember vaguely that Miss Birtley was there, but that's definitely all. If you're thinking that I knew she'd gone to fetch Dan up to take the call, and that it was I who murdered him in that ghastly way - well, you're not only wrong, but it's utterly absurd! If you must know, I was terribly upset by the whole affair - anyone will tell you that! It was the most appalling shock: in fact, for a moment I damned nearly fainted!" He glanced at Inspector Grant, seated with a notebook in one hand, and a pencil in the other, and burst out angrily: "It's no use asking me to sign a statement, because I won't! I'm too terribly shattered to know what happened this evening!"
"Well, you haven't made a statement yet, have you, sir?" said Hemingway. "All you've done is to answer a few questions, and hand me a few lies, which it's only fair to tell you I don't believe."
"You've no right to say that!" Sydney declared, a trifle shrilly. "You've no shadow of right to talk to me like that!"
"Well, if that's what you think, sir, all you have to do is to lodge a complaint against me with the Department," replied Hemingway. "You'll have to convince them that you didn't hand me a lot of silly lies, of course - and, come to think of it, you might just as well convince me of that, and save us both a heap of unp
leasantness. And if you'd stop thinking you'll be pinched for murder if you admit you knew Mr. Seaton-Carew was telephoning in this room, we'd get on much faster. There isn't any question but that Mrs. Haddington and Miss Birtley both knew it, but I can't arrest the three of you, nor I don't want to!"
"O God!" Sydney ejaculated, and, to the patent horror of Inspector Grant, dropped his head in his hands, and broke into sobs.
"Och, what a truaghan!" muttered Grant. "Ist, Ist, nach ist thu?"
"Now, don't you start to annoy me!" his superior admonished him. "Come, now, sir, there's no need for you to take on like that!"
"I know you think I murdered him!" Sydney said, in a choked voice. "All right, think it! Arrest me! What do you think I care, now Dan's dead? Oh, Dan, oh, Dan, I didn't mean it!"
This extremely embarrassing scene caused the Inspector so much discomfort that he could only be glad to hear Hemingway recommending Mr. Butterwick to go home, and to bed. He ushered him out of the room, and came back himself, mopping his brow. "Indeed, sir, I was glad to see you get rid of that one!" he remarked. "Though I would not say Pershore was wrong when he thought it possible he was the man we are after. To my mind, he would be likely to weep the eyes out of his head if he had killed his friend."
"Very likely. And to my mind it was a case of drink taken; and waste my time on maudlin drunks, without a bit of solid evidence to go on, I will not!"
"He was not drunk precisely," said the Inspector, with native caution. "I should say, however, that he had had a dram this night."
"Half a dozen, more like. I'll see Mrs. Haddington next."
Mrs. Haddington walked calmly into the room five minutes later. She looked quite as well-groomed and as well made-up as when she had stood within the drawing room to receive her guests, many hours earlier; but she had removed her diamonds, and her gloves. She inclined her head in a stately fashion to Hemingway, and disposed herself in a chair beside the fireplace. "What is it that you wish to ask me - er - Chief Inspector, I believe?"
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