Time enough when you've had a nap," said Sally, and withdrew.
Half-an-hour later, when she presented herself at the front door at Greystones, it was to be met by the intelligence that Miss Fletcher, like Helen, was resting. She was spared the necessity of inquiring for Neville by that willowy young gentleman's strolling out of the drawing-room into the hall, and inviting her to enter and solace his boredom.
Simmons made it plain by his cough and general air of pious gloom that he considered the invitation unseasonable, but as neither Sally nor Neville paid the slightest heed to him, there was nothing for him to do but to retire to his own domain, on the far side of a baize door leading out of the hall, and draw, for his wife's edification, an unpleasing picture of the fate awaiting the hard-hearted and the irreligious.
Meanwhile, Neville had escorted his visitor into the drawing-room. "Come to see the sights, darling?" he inquired. "You're too late to see the dragging of the lilypool."
"Ah!" she said. "So they're after the weapon, are they?"
"Yes, but there's no pleasing them. I offered them Aunt Lucy's Indian clubs, a mallet, and the bronze paper-weight on Ernie's desk, but they didn't seem to like any of them."
"So there was a bronze paper-weight on his desk, was there? H'm!"
"Well, no," said Neville softly, "there wasn't. I put it there."
"What on earth for?"
"Oh, just to occupy their minds!" said Neville, seraphically smiling.
"It'll serve you right if you get pinched for the murder," Sally told him.
"Yes, but I shan't. I was right about Honest John, wasn't I?"
"Yes. How did you know he was back?"
"News does get about so, doesn't it?"
"Rot!"
"All right, precious. I saw him drive past the house on the way to the station. Flying the country?"
"Not he. John's not that sort. Besides, why should he?"
Neville regarded her with sleepy shrewdness. "Do not bother to put on the frills with me, sweet maid. It is worrying for you, isn't it?"
"Not in the least. My interest in the murder is purely academic. Why do they think the instrument is still on the premises? Because of what Helen said?"
"They don't confide in me as much as you'd think they would," replied Neville. "What did Helen say?"
"Oh, that she was sure the man she saw wasn't carrying anything!"
"Bless her little heart, did she? Isn't she fertile? First, she didn't see the man at all; now she knows he wasn't carrying anything. Give her time and she'll remember that he had bandy legs and a squint."
"You poisonous reptile, just because it wasn't light enough for her to recognise the man -'
"Oh, do you think it wasn't?" asked Neville. "You've a kind heart, and no Norman blood."
"Oh! So you think she did recognise the man, and that it was John, do you?"
"Yes, but I have a low mind," he explained.
"You've taken the words out of my mouth."
"I know."
"Well, I've got the same kind of low mind, and the thought that crosses it is that you're probably the heir to Ernie's money. Correct?"
"Yes, rather," said Neville cordially. "I'm practically a plutocrat."
"Yes?" said Sally. "Then it'll be a nice change for you, Mr. Neville Fletcher, after having been up to your eyes in debt!"
Chapter Five
This suggestion, hurled at his head like a challenge, was received by Neville with unruffled placidity. He appeared to consider the matter dispassionately, remarking at length: "Well, I don't know that I altogether agree with you."
"What?" said Sally scornfully. "You don't agree that a fortune is better than debt?"
"Depends what you're accustomed to," said Neville.
"Don't be a fool! You don't imagine I'm going to swallow that, do you?"
"No."
"Then what on earth's the use of saying it?"
"I mean I haven't speculated on the processes of your mind," explained Neville. "Unprofitable occupation, quite without point."
"Look here, Neville, are you sticking to it that you've no objection to being snowed under by debts?" demanded Sally.
"Yes, why not?"
"It doesn't add up, that's why not. There's nothing more uncomfortable than not having any money, and being dunned by tradesmen. Receiving To Account Rendered by every post, with a veiled threat attached, and totting up the ghastly totals -'
"Oh, but I don't do anything like that!" Neville assured her. "I never open bills."
"Then you get County Courted."
"You soon get used to that. Besides, Ernie hated it, so he got into the way of paying my outstanding debts. Really, the whole thing worked out very well. Now I've got his money I shall never have a moment's peace. People will badger me."
"Well, you can employ a secretary."
"I shouldn't like that at all. I should have to have a house to put him in, and servants to run it, and before I knew what had happened I should find myself shackled by respectability."
This point of view struck Sally quite forcibly. "I must say, I hadn't looked at it like that," she admitted. "It does sound rather lousy. What do you want to do?"
"Nothing, at the moment. But I may easily want to wander off to Bulgaria next week. It's a place I hardly know."
"You'll still be able to, won't you?"
"First class ticket to Sofia, and a suite at the best hotel? Not if I know it!"
Sally was so much interested that she was beguiled into pursuing the subject of foreign travel. Neville's disjointed yet picturesque account of incredible adventures encountered during the course of aimless and impecunious wanderings held her entranced, and drew from her at length a rather wistful exclamation of: "Golly, what fun you must have had! I wish I were a man. Why haven't you written a book about all this?"
"That," said Neville incorrigibly, "would have invested my travels with a purpose, and spoilt them for me."
"You're definitely sub-human," said Sally. She eyed him curiously. "Does anything ever worry you?"
"Yes. Problem of how to escape worry."
She grinned, but said: "I hate paradox. Does this little situation worry you?"
"What, Ernie's murder? No, why should it?"
"Does it strike you that you've got a pretty good motive for having killed Ernie?"
"Naturally not."
"The police will think so."
"Too busy chasing after the unknown man seen by Helen and Malachi."
"Who?"
"Haven't you met Malachi?" said Neville, roused to sudden interest. "Oh, I must introduce you at once! Come on!"
"Yes, but who is he?" demanded Sally.
He took her wrist and led her out into the garden through the long window. "He's the bobby who discovered the crime."
"Good Lord, did he see Helen's man too? That wasn't in the paper John brought home!"
"Oh, here we live at the hub of the crime!" said Neville. Just a moment," interposed Sally, pulling her hand away. "I want to take a look at the general lay-out. Anyone mounting guard over the study?"
"Not now. Nothing to be seen."
"I might get an idea," Sally said darkly.
"Morbid mind, professional interest, or family feeling?" She ignored the implication of this last alternative.
"Professional interest."
They had rounded the corner of the house, and come in sight of the path leading to a gate set in the fence separating the garden from Maple Grove. A thick bed of shrubs concealed the fence from view, and was being subjected to a rigorous search by two hot and rather dishevelled policemen. Sally cast them a cursory glance, and transferred her attention to the house. "Which is Helen's bush?"
He pointed it out to her, and she went to it, inspected the footprints, and would have concealed herself behind it had it not been for the prompt action of PC Glass, who, having observed her arrival with some disapproval, now abandoned his search in the shrubbery to admonish her.