"A dangerous situation!" Sally said.
"Of course. Have you never felt the fascination of fear? Helen has, in that gambling-hell of hers."
"Not now!" Helen said. "This is too awful. I only feel sick, and - and desperate!"
"Take some bicarbonate," he advised. "Meanwhile, I'm going home to bed. Oh, did I say thank you for the cigarettes? By the way, where is John supposed to be?"
"In Berlin," replied Helen listlessly.
"Well, he isn't," said Neville. "I saw him in London today."
She came to her feet in one swift movement, paperwhite, staring at him. "You couldn't have! I know he's in Berlin!"
"Yes, I saw him," murmured Neville.
He was by the window, a hand on the curtain. Helen moved quickly to detain him. "You thought you saw him! Do you imagine I don't know where my own husband is?"
"Oh, no!" Neville said gently. "I didn't say that, precious."
Chapter Three
Well, it doesn't look such a whale of a case to me," said Sergeant Hemingway, handing the sheaf of typescript back to his superior. "No one in it but the one man, on the face of it."
"True," agreed Hannasyde. "Still, there are points."
"That's right, Superintendent," nodded Inspector True. "That's what I said myself. What about them footprints? They weren't made by the old lady: she doesn't wear that kind of shoe."
"Housemaid, saying good-night to her young man," said the experienced Hemingway.
"Hardly," said Hannasyde. "She wouldn't choose a bush just outside her master's study."
"No, nor there wasn't anything like that going on," said the Inspector. "The cook is a very respectable woman, married to Simmons, the butler, and the housemaid is her own niece, and this Mrs. Simmons swears to it both she and the kitchen-maid never stirred outside the house the whole evening."
"It's my belief those footprints'll be found to be highly irrelevant," said Hemingway obstinately. "All we want is this chap your man - what's-his-name? - Glass saw making off. Nothing to it."
Hannasyde cocked an eyebrow at him. "Liverish, Skipper?"
"I don't like the set-up. Ordinary, that's what it is. And I don't like the smashed skull. Just doesn't appeal to me. Give me something a bit recherche, and I'm right on to it. "
Hannasyde smiled a little. "I repeat, there are points. The murdered man seems to have been universally liked. No motive for killing him even hinted at."
"You wait till we've done half-an-hour's work on the case," said Hemingway. "I wouldn't mind betting we'll find scores of people all stiff with motives."
"I thought you said all we had to do was to find the man PC Glass saw?"
"I daresay I did, Chief, and what's more I was probably right, but you mark my words, we shall find a whole lot of stuff just confusing the main issue. I've been on this kind of case before."
"The way I look at it," said the Inspector slowly, "we want to find the instrument it was done with."
"Yes, that's another of the points," replied Hannasyde. "Your man Glass seems quite certain that the fellow he saw wasn't carrying anything. What sort of a chap is he? Reliable?"
"Yes, sir, he is, very reliable. That's his conscience. He's a very religious man, Glass. I never can remember what sect he belongs to, but it's one of those where they all wrestle with the devil, and get moved by the Lord to stand up and testify. Well, I'm Church of England myself, but what I say is, it takes all sorts to make a world. As a matter of fact, I was thinking of detailing Glass to you, to give you any assistance you may need, Superintendent. I reckon he's one of my best men - not quick, you know, but not one to lose his head, or go flying off at a tangent. Seems only right to put him on to this case, seeing as it was him discovered the body."
"All right," said Hannasyde absently, his eyes running down the typescript in his hand.
The Inspector coughed. "Only perhaps I'd better just warn you, sir, that he's got a tiresome habit of coming out with bits of the Bible. One of these blood-and-thunder merchants, if you know what I mean. You can't break him of it. He gets moved by the spirit."
"I daresay Hemingway will be able to deal with him," said Hannasyde, rather amused.
"I knew I wasn't going to like this case," said Hemingway gloomily.
Half-an-hour later, having made a tour of the grounds of Greystones, inspected the footprints behind the flowering currant bush, and cast a jaundiced eye over the stalwart, rigid form of PC Glass, he reiterated this statement.
"If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength is small," said Glass reprovingly.
The Sergeant surveyed him with acute dislike. "If you get fresh with me, my lad, we're going to fall out," he said.
"The words are none of mine, but set down in Holy Writ, Sergeant," explained Glass.
"There's a time and a place for everything," replied the Sergeant, "and this isn't the place nor the time for the Holy Writ. You attend to me, now! When you saw that chap sneaking out of this gate last night, it was just after ten o'clock, wasn't it?"
"It was, Sergeant."
"And getting dark?"
"As you say, Sergeant."
"Too dark for you to see him very clearly?"
"Too dark for me to distinguish his features, but not too dark for me to take note of his build and raiment."
"It's my belief it was too dark for you to see whether he was carrying anything or not," said the Sergeant.
"His hands were empty," replied Glass positively. "I will not bear false witness against my neighbour."
"All right, skip it!" said the Sergeant. "Now, you've been in this district some time, haven't you?"
"For three years, Sergeant."
"Well, what do you know about these Fletchers?"
"Their eyes stand out with fatness; they have more than heart could wish."
"Yes, that's a lot of use, isn't it? What about the nephew?"
"I know nothing of him, either good or ill."
"And the late Ernest?"
A sombre look came into Glass's face. "He that pursueth evil pursueth it to his own death."
The Sergeant pricked up his ears. "What evil?"
Glass looked sternly down at him. "I believe him to have been wholly given up to vain show, double of heart, a fornicator, a -"
"Here, that'll do!" said the Sergeant, startled. "We're none of us saints. I understand the late Ernest was pretty well liked?"
"It is true. It is said that he was a man of pleasing manners, filled with loving kindness. But the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?"
"Yes, that's all very well, but where do you get that fornication idea? From those footprints, eh?"
"No. Joseph Simmons, who is in the way of light, though a foolish man, knew some of the secrets of his master's life."
"He did, did he? We'll see!" said the Sergeant briskly, and turned towards the house.
He entered it through the study window, and found his superior there, with Ernest Fletcher's solicitor, and Neville Fletcher, who was lounging bonelessly in an armchair, the inevitable cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth.
"Then, if that is all, Superintendent," the solicitor was saying, "I will take my leave. Should you require my further services, there is my card."
"Thank you," said Hannasyde.
The solicitor picked up Ernest Fletcher's Will, and replaced it in his brief-case. He glanced rather severely over the top of his pince-nez at Neville, and said: "You are a very fortunate young man, Neville. I hope you will prove yourself worthy of the benefits your poor uncle has conferred on you."
Neville looked up with his fleeting smile. "Oh, so do I! I shall try hard not to let all this vulgar wealth corrupt my soul."
"It's a great responsibility," said the lawyer gravely.
"I know, that's what depresses me. People will expect me to wear a hat, and look at tape-machines."