"No, darling, and believe me, you won't see it again. Not that I did. If I fell it was because I was pushed. Don't tell me you've inserted this repulsive notion into John's head!"
"I haven't, of course, but I shouldn't be altogether surprised if it were there. I may be wrong, but one thing I do know, and that is that he's being extremely guarded - not to say frozen."
"You'd be guarded if you looked like being pinched for murder."
She let her monocle drop. "Neville, do you think there's a danger of that?"
"I do, of course. What is more, I don't think that the further instalment of Helen's adventures on the fatal night are going to be as helpful to John as she no doubt felt they would be."
"No," said Sally bluntly. "Nor do I. If she'd only keep her mouth shut . By the way, John doesn't know anything about her second interview with the Superintendent, so don't go and let it out!"
"How simple life would be without friends! Why, in the name of all that's feeble-minded -'
"Because he'd be bound to ask why she went back to the study, of course, and that would tear the whole thing wide open. She'd have to tell him about the IOUs."
"Let's go and write an anonymous letter to John, divulging the whole story, shall we?" suggested Neville. "It would be a kindness to them both, and I don't in the least mind doing people kindnesses if it doesn't cost me anything."
Sally sighed. "I darned nearly told him myself, when he first arrived. Only Helen was so terrified of his knowing that I didn't. And since then… Oh, I don't know! She may be right. I can't make John out. Neville, what brought him home?"
"Dear heart, will you purge your mind of the belief that I'm good at riddles?"
"He doesn't suspect her of having had an affair with Ernie. Apparently he told her he didn't."
"Well, it's nice to know that he hasn't joined the great majority."
She looked sharply at him. "Is that what people have been thinking? Go on, tell me!"
"People are so lewd," murmured Neville.
"Has there been talk? Much of it?"
"Oh no! Just a little light-hearted gossip to pass the time."
She was silent for a moment, frowning. At last she said: "That's bad. Easily discovered, and saddles John with a motive. If he got wind of that… Hang it, he wouldn't burst home just to bash Ernie on the head! It's archaic."
Neville handed her a cigarette, and lit one himself. "You could work that up into a plausible story if you put your mind to it," he said. "While in Berlin, John heard repercussions of the gossip -'
"Why in Berlin?" she interrupted.
"That I can't tell you. You'll probably be able to think out several attractive answers for yourself. He returned to remonstrate with Ernie -'
"I don't see John remonstrating."
"No, darling; if you'd seen John remonstrating you'd be a suspect yourself."
"What I mean is -'
"We know, we know! Have it your own way! He came home to issue an ultimatum. Ernie got under his skin, and without taking much thought he knocked him on the head."
"Several flaws," said Sally. "Why did he enter by the side gate, if not with malice aforethought?"
"State entry heralded by butler leading to undesirable publicity. Gossip amongst servants, possibility of encountering Aunt Lucy. Lots of answers."
"All right. What did he do with the weapon?"
"Not a fair question. Doesn't apply exclusively to John. Whoever killed Ernie disposed of the weapon with such skill as to provide this case with its most baffling feature."
"Very nice," said Sally. "You've been reading my books. But let me tell you that I'm not a believer in these sudden flashes of brilliance on the part of murderers. When I think out a bit of dazzling ingenuity for my criminal to indulge in, it usually costs me several hours of brain-racking thought."
"The human mind sharpened by fear -'
"Bosh!" said Sally, flicking the ash from the end of her cigarette. "In my experience, the human mind, when under the influence of fear, rushes round in frantic circles. No, thanks: that theory doesn't go big with me at all. As I see it, there was one person who had time, motive and opportunity to kill Ernie, and lashings of time in which to dispose of the weapon."
He met her look with a flickering smile, and lifted his hand. "Oh, no! This hand of mine Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, Not painted with the crimson spots of blood."
"Round of applause from the gallery. But quotations prove nothing. You could have done it, Neville."
"Oh, but why stop at me? Perhaps Aunty Lucy did it, with one of her Indian clubs. I believe she wields them with considerable vigour."
"Don't be silly. Why should she?"
"Heaven knows. If you don't fancy her, what about Simmons?"
"Again why?"
"And again, Heaven knows. Why leave all the brainwork to me? You think."
"Yes, well, I see very little point in thinking out fantastic motives for Miss Fletcher and Simmons while you're right under my nose, complete with a motive I don't have to hunt for."
He looked bored. "Well, if you're going to make me the favourite, I shall lose all interest. The crime becomes at once pedestrian and commonplace. Oh, here's my poor aunt! Come and help us to solve the mystery, Aunt Lucy. My theory is that you did it."
Miss Fletcher, who had entered the drawing-room, came over to the window, but said in a voice of shocked indignation: "I'm sure I don't know where you get your dreadful tongue from, Neville. It certainly wasn't from your dear father. I know it is only thoughtlessness, but the things you say are in the very worst of bad taste. And you haven't even bought an armband!"
"I know. I thought it would look like the fall from the sublime to the ridiculous if I did," he explained, indicating with a wave of his hand her funereal attire.
"One likes to show respect for the dead," she said. "Oh, Miss Drew, so kind of your sister to send such beautiful flowers!" She pressed Sally's hand, and added: "I expect you must find this all most interesting. I always think it so clever of you to write books. So complicated, too. Not that I've read them, of course. I find I'm too stupid to understand detective stories, but I always put them down on my library list."
"You wouldn't be so encouraging if you knew what she's up to," said Neville. "She's trying to prove that I murdered Ernie."
"Oh no, dear!" said Miss Fletcher distressfully. "I'm afraid Neville's often very thoughtless, but he wouldn't do a thing like that."
"Why on earth you can't keep a still tongue in your head baffles conjecture!" Sally told Neville wrathfully.
"His poor father was very talkative," explained Miss Fletcher. "Dear Ernie, too, was always good company. But unfortunately Neville has got into a bad habit of mumbling, which makes it very difficult to hear what he says. Neville, I have just discovered that there will have to be an inquest. Can nothing be done to stop it?"
"No. Do you mind?" he inquired.
"Well, dear, it's not very nice, is it? We've never had such a thing in the family. So common! I wonder if Mr. Lawrence could do anything about it? I think I will go and ring him up."
"But Miss Fletcher -!"began Sally, only to be silenced by having her foot trodden on by Neville.
Miss Fletcher, recommending Neville to take care of his guest, drifted away. Neville said softly: "You know, you're a menace. Leave my aunt to me, will you?"
"But what's the use of letting her think there needn't be an inquest? It isn't very considerate of you to -'
"Of course it's not considerate! It wasn't considerate of me to discover that I hadn't a shirt fit to wear this morning, or a pair of socks without holes in them; and it won't be considerate of me when I think up a new annoyance, which I shall do as soon as this inquestbusiness begins to wear thin. You've got a disgustingly sentimental idea that bereaved persons ought to be humoured, cosseted, and given plenty of time in which to indulge their grief. I shouldn't be at all surprised to find that you're one of those paralysing monsters of unselfishness, with a bias towards self-sacrifice, and a strong yen for shouldering other people's burdens."