“I’m not forgetting it. I’ve had a lot of assistance from journalists in my time. And also a lot of bother with them. One found a knife once, and was a bit too long in admitting the fact. I expect he forgot what might have happened if the knife had been found on him? Where exactly, and when, did you find the knife, Mr. Bultin?”
Bultin told him.
“Never thought of finger-prints?” barked the inspector.
“Constantly,” replied Bultin. “That’s why it seemed such a pity the handle was immersed in water. Still, I treated it gently.”
“Well? Go on. When did you put it in the drawer?”
“Before my journey to the station. It was about five when Aveling and I were in the hall, and he heard over the phone about Chater. I came up immediately afterwards. We can say I put it in the drawer at 5.5.”
“And Mrs. Chater was back in her room by then.”
“So I understood from Lady Aveling, who had followed her up. But that was a few minutes before I went up, and I thought I heard her going into her room myself.”
“Perhaps she went in and left it again, and you heard her going back. Did you close your door while putting the knife away?”
Bultin thought. “No. I left it ajar.”
“You did? Then if Mrs. Chater, in her highly-hysterical mood—anxious—suspicious—frightened—heard you in the passage, she could have crept from her room for a moment, peeped in, and seen you put the knife away?”
Bultin thought again, and turned his eyes towards the chest. “Let’s test that!” exclaimed Kendall. He ran out of the room, leaving the door ajar. Bultin walked to the chest. Kendall turned and looked in.
“Yes, that’s when she could have seen the knife,” he said, re-entering.
“And taken it?” asked Pratt.
“Possibly. Possibly. But why should she take it then?” mused Kendall. “Why then? She hadn’t been told that her husband was dead. She only knew—at 5.5—that his horse had returned without him.” Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “Bathroom! Here are some more times for you! Chater’s body was brought back at about half-past five. The doctor phoned to me about ten minutes later. He’d seen Chater. He’d seen Mrs. Chater—in her room. It was these two facts that largely influenced him to phone me so urgently. You see, gentlemen—Mrs. Chater did mention some names. And—so the doctor told me—she wasn’t only suspicious and revengeful—she was frightened! Do you get that?”
“Certainly I get it,” answered Pratt. “Sharing her husband’s knowledge, she thought she might be the next victim, I suppose that’s why you rushed here with so many men.”
Kendall nodded and continued.
“And when you went to the bathroom, at the same time that the doctor left her room and went down into the hall to phone, she could have remembered the knife and stolen it. For revenge—or protection.”
“The logic seems sound,” agreed Pratt. “So what’s the next step?”
“To continue my questions elsewhere,” replied Kendall. “I’ve already had the house searched from top to bottom, and we can’t find any trace of her.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
“Always ready to receive them.”
“I suggest that you interview that young fellow who’s laid up in the ante-room. Though I don’t suppose she named him?”
“She didn’t. But why do you suppose he’ll have anything to say?”
“His window has an excellent view.”
“I’ve already noted that,” nodded Kendall, walking to the door. “I’ll see him in his turn.”
“Whose is the next turn?” inquired Pratt.
“You needn’t follow me to find out,” retorted Kendall. “I’ve advised every one to stay in their rooms till the dinner-gong.”
“The advice seems excellent,” murmured Pratt. “I shall certainly take it. We are having a happy week-end.”
Chapter XXII
Earnshaw Answers Some Questions
Sir James Earnshaw looked through his mirror as he called, “Come in.” The door opened, and the inspector’s face loomed over the white shoulder of his evening-shirt.
“Ah, Inspector, I was wondering when I should have the pleasure,” he greeted the reflection. “You will forgive my shirt-sleeves.”
“No ceremony on an occasion like this,” replied Kendall, as Earnshaw turned.
“And a shocking occasion it is,” answered Earnshaw. “Have you any news of Mrs. Chater?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“I had your sergeant in here a few minutes ago, examining cupboards. What was the idea?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“He was much too well trained! As a matter of fact, I have heard very little. Please sit down. Do you mind if I shave while we talk? I am filling in the time by dressing early, since social activities are temporarily at a standstill. You have some questions to ask me?”
“A few, sir,” responded the inspector, as he took a chair. “You won’t object if I jot down your answers?”
Earnshaw eyed the official note-book with a slight smile.
“No—not in the least,” he said. “I realise my position.”
Kendall looked at him sharply.
“As far as you know, I was the last person to see Chater alive,” explained Earnshaw. “I have already given Lord Aveling the particulars, but you will naturally want them, also.”
“I shall be obliged,” nodded Kendall. “Mr. Chater was a friend of yours?”
“Well, perhaps hardly that.”
“But he received his invitation through you?”
“That is true. Mr. Chater assisted me at the last election—he was quite useful—and as his work was entirely voluntary, I said I hoped I would be able to return the service some time.”
“He was a keen Liberal?”
“One would think so. But I have wondered since—”
He paused and regarded the chin he was lathering.
“What did you wonder?” pressed Kendall.
“Well—he never struck me as politically minded. When he asked whether I could return his service by giving him an insight into how the rich live—that was how he put it—I did wonder whether perhaps his assistance had had an ulterior motive. Whether, in fact, he had been less interested in the Liberal Cause than his own smaller cause—and wanted to use me as a stepping-stone for the satisfaction of social ambitions. And his wife’s. Not an uncommon type, Inspector.”
“One comes across them,” agreed Kendall. “So you decided to satisfy the ambition?”
“I did not see why not. At the time. Perhaps I see more reason why not now.”
“Would you explain that?”
“Well—this is in confidence?”
“I can’t make any promise, sir.”
“No? Even if the lack of the promise bars my tongue?”
Kendall smiled rather grimly.
“I shall learn what I need, sir—whether now or later.”
Sir James Earnshaw smiled back through a layer of white soap.
“You are quite right. I withdraw my hesitation, and shall rely on your discretion.…I had not seen Mrs. Chater when I gave the invitation. I hope nothing has happened to her, and I am sincerely sorry for the poor lady, but—well, she has not assisted the week-end gaiety. Glum. Moody. To be candid, I doubt whether she is very well.”
“What about Mr. Chater?” asked Kendall. “Did he work out better?”
“Mr. Chater is dead,” murmured Earnshaw, stropping his razor.
“Yes, that’s why we’re talking about him,” answered Kendall.
“True. Well, then—Mr. Chater was not more helpful than his wife. I did not like the man.”
“Just his general manner? Or did he do anything special to worry you?”
“His general manner worried me.”
/>
“In what way?”
“He was rather too curious, for my taste.”
“Poking his nose into other people’s business?”
“That is my meaning exactly. He himself did not seem to have any other business. I felt like apologising to Lord Aveling for having introduced him—and I very nearly did.”
“Did you quarrel with Mr. Chater?”
“What makes you ask that?” demanded Earnshaw, pausing in his stropping.
“A natural question, sir. You might have spoken to him about his behaviour. Anyway, whether it’s a natural question or not, I have my reason for asking it.”
Earnshaw touched the edge of his razor with his finger and began shaving. The inspector watched his hand, and noticed it was quite steady.
“I can guess your reason,” replied Earnshaw. “Yes, I did speak to him about his behaviour, and we did have a quarrel.”
“When?”
“To-day.”
“Can I hear what happened?”
“Certainly. Chater and I got separated from the rest of the party soon after we started—”
“What time was that?”
“I’m afraid I cannot tell you exactly. Round about midday, I should say. We got lost, and eventually struck a small inn at a place called Holm. We decided to have lunch, and it was while we were waiting for our lunch that we had our little argument. Chater had been in a very surly mood. Over breakfast he had been almost rude. I considered this a good moment to—well, give him a little instruction. He didn’t appreciate the lesson.”
“What did you say to him?”
“You mean, my exact words?”
“If you can remember any of them.”
“I can remember how I, so to speak, opened fire. I was quite blunt. ‘Look here, Chater,’ I said. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ ‘What do you mean?’ he replied. ‘Your attitude,’ I said. ‘Do you know, you are putting me in a very difficult position?’ ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ he answered.”
“He spoke like that to you?”
Earnshaw paused in his shaving to nod.
“That shows you his humour. Once he had got the invitation, he lost all sense of social responsibility. ‘I am talking to you about your behaviour,’ I said. ‘Take a word of advice from me, and don’t ask so many questions about other people’s affairs. Even Mr. Bultin, who is a journalist and who deals professionally in other people’s affairs, shows less curiosity than you do.’ The debate did not continue. He flew into an atrocious temper. It was so atrocious that I left him—to consume both lunches. Yes, and now I come to think of it,” he added, “also to pay for them.”
“What did you do then?” inquired Kendall.
“Well, I felt pretty warm myself,” answered Earnshaw, “and I rode my horse hard. Lost myself again—not that this mattered, for I was in no hurry to return to the rather uncomfortable atmosphere here—and eventually got back just before five. I walked into the middle of a painful scene with Mrs. Chater in the hall—I expect Lord Aveling has told you of this?” Kendall nodded. “She went up to her room. I went to mine. And just after I left the hall, I understand, the phone message came through about Chater. I think that’s about all I can tell you—unless you have any questions you want to ask?”
Kendall did not answer for a few moments. He studied his notes, and then made one or two additions while Earnshaw continued with his shaving.
“Yes, I have a few questions I would like to ask, if you’ve no objection,” said Kendall, looking up from his book.
“My only object is to help you,” responded Earnshaw.
“What was the name of the inn where you left Chater?”
“Oh, yes, I should have told you. The Rising Sun.”
“Had you stopped previously at any other inn?”
“No.”
“Then, as far as you know, Chater had not eaten or drunk anything during the ride? Up to lunch?”
“As far as I know.”
“Did he carry a flask?”
“I should think it highly probable, but I did not see it.”
“No flask was found on him.”
“Then apparently he did not.”
“Well, sir, I am inclined to think, from the condition of his hip pocket, that he did. However, I shall find that out later. Had the lunch been served before you left the inn?”
“Fortunately, no.”
“Why fortunately?”
“If it had been served, I might have sprayed poison over it, in revenge for being called a something fool.”
“You know the doctor’s theory, then?”
“I imagine everybody knows it.”
“And you know where Chater was found?”
“At a spot called Mile Bottom. By the way, the innkeeper at the Rising Sun will be able to corroborate the fact that I left before the meal was served. I expect you have already made a note of that.”
“Did you pass Mile Bottom on your way home?”
“I did.”
“About what time? Can you say?”
“I can say approximately. Between a quarter and half-past four.”
“Did you look at your watch?”
“No. I judge by the time it took me to ride from there to here. Half an hour, it should be, or a little over.
Kendall stared at his pencil rather intently. Earnshaw watched him through the mirror.
“Mrs. Chater was with the main party, wasn’t she?” asked Kendall abruptly.
“I believe so,” replied Earnshaw.
“Did she see you ride away with her husband?”
“She may have done so. I can’t say.”
“Who were the last people you saw before you rode away?”
“Miss Aveling and Mr. Taverley. As a matter of fact, they broke away from the main party with us, and a little later they took another direction by themselves.”
“It was Miss Aveling and Mr. Taverley who found Chater’s body.”
“Yes.”
“On their way home.”
“I believe so. Yes, of course.”
“They must have reached Mile Bottom after you.”
“That is obvious.”
“Yes. The phone message came through at about five, so we may guess they were fifteen or twenty minutes behind you.”
“And in that fifteen or twenty minutes Chater reached Mile Bottom and fell from his horse?”
“Oh, no,” corrected Kendall. “Chater’s horse returned without him soon after four, just as Lord Aveling was on his way to see the other dead man in the quarry.”
Earnshaw frowned.
“Then I suppose your next question is, why did I not see Chater’s body?”
“I’ll give you your answer, sir,” smiled Kendall. “Chater’s body was well off the road.”
“Quite true. I was told that. And now I recall that the others only turned off the road because they saw his hat—as I should have done, had I seen the hat. Does that cover the point? Really, Inspector, this is worse than question time in the House—but carry on!”
“I shall only keep you a moment or two longer, Sir James. You got lost on two separate occasions, did you not? Once with Chater, before lunch, once alone, afterwards?”
“I must have got lost twenty times.”
“You do not know this district very well?”
“Not particularly.”
“Is there a signpost at Mile Bottom?”
“Signpost?”
“Or anything else to identify the spot?”
“Inspector,” remarked Earnshaw, “I am very glad I have a clear conscience. Lord Aveling came to my room after the phone, and he described the spot to me. It is a wild spot, and there is a brook and a stone bridge. I recognised it at once.”
Kendall nodded and clo
sed his book.
“Thank you, Sir James,” he said. “You have answered my questions very patiently, clearly and helpfully. Now I will go and torture somebody else.”
“Give them my sympathy,” replied Earnshaw. “But, before you go, I would like you to answer one question for me.”
“What is it?”
“Unless Chater was poisoned at the Rising Sun by a total stranger—we only went to this inn by the merest chance—how could the alleged poison have been administered?”
“That is what I am here to find out,” answered Kendall. “Of course, I shall make inquiries at the Rising Sun, but I don’t imagine I shall find that he was poisoned there.”
Outside Earnshaw’s door, Inspector Kendall paused to reflect that Sir James Earnshaw had taken very considerable pains to clear himself. On the other side of the door, Sir James Earnshaw wiped his razor, and then his brow.
Chapter XXIII
Theories of an Authoress
A figure darted towards Kendall, like a ghost that had suddenly materialised out of a shadow and had urgent business to do before dissolving back into ethereal form.
“Ah, Inspector! Can I have a word with you?”
He found Edyth Fermoy-Jones’s large tense eyes goggling at him.
“Certainly,” he answered. “Have you discovered anything?”
“We mustn’t talk here!” she whispered. “You never know who may be listening!”
She seized his sleeve and drew him towards the door of her room. It was at the end of the passage. When he had entered, and she had closed the door behind him, she glanced suspiciously at the walls, then asked:
“Is an authoress privileged to suggest a theory?”
“I’ll listen to any theory,” he replied. “I’ve listened to thousands.”
“Yes, I expect you have,” she nodded. “Everybody has a theory. At least, they have in my own mystery novels. Though, of course, I write about sport, too—that’s why it seems so—so ordained, almost—that I should have struck both here. In A Fool Surprises, it was the fool’s theory that proved correct.”
“I should very much like to hear yours,” said Kendall.
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