Becket made his contribution. “And what would be the point of killing him before any money’s been paid over?”
There was a comparatively long silence. Then Sir Arthur pointed at the door and said: “I think we might now invite our policeman friend back again.”
Lanching rose to obey.
“I counsel absolute frankness,” said Sir Arthur. “Most earnestly, I do.”
“And I ask you“—it was Birdie’s voice, tense and anxious, while she stared fixedly not at Heckington but at the door which Lanching was about to open—“not to push us just yet. Not until after the post mortem, anyway. One thing you can be sure of. Clive’s death was from natural causes. Don’t ask me how I know. Take my word, please. If I’m proved wrong—OK, turn everything over and we’ll help you. But not immediately. Or there’ll be hell to pay, believe me.”
The last few words had been delivered very quietly, but Birdie fancied they were not altogether lost upon the inspector, who entered at that moment rather self-consciously, like a parent inveigled into a game of postman’s knock.
He had just sat down when the telephone began to ring. Becket went out. He returned almost at once, and gave the inspector a nod. “For you.”
As soon as Purbright had left, Heckington turned urgently to Birdie. “Is there anything you have failed to tell me, Miss Clemenceaux? If so, I beg you not to continue to withhold it.”
For a while she remained silent and seemingly hesitant. Then she shook her head decisively. “No. Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Sir Arthur gazed at her, his mouth set in a small pout of speculation, one of his most telling courtroom expressions, but she had given no sign of changing her answer by the time Purbright came back into the room and resumed his seat.
“I should like you,” he began, “to hear first my understanding of what Mr Grail and you—his colleagues, I take it—were doing in Flaxborough. Please correct me if I am wrong. You all were engaged in compiling a newspaper article, or articles, for the Sunday Herald, on the subject of films made by local amateur photographers. The films are alleged to be indecent. In short, Mr Grail’s job was to expose a scandal, and yours, presumably, to help provide material which would substantiate the story. Would that be a fair summary of why you people came here?”
Becket and Lanching glanced at each other and at Birdie, then shrugged. “I suppose so,” said Becket.
The girl nodded. “Yes, that’s about it.”
Purbright continued: “Since your paper’s announcement of its intentions, some local people have expressed resentment. I shouldn’t imagine that surprised any of you, although”—the inspector smiled faintly—“a challenge to a duel can scarcely have been expected. Tell me, was Mr Grail upset at all by that?”
“It added to his nervousness, I think,” said Birdie. “The story hadn’t been going well. Clive was a bit tense.”
“What do you mean by not going well, Miss Clemenceaux?”
“Well, on Monday we saw the actual film on which reports had been based. It was not quite what we had been led to expect.”
“It was not indecent, do you mean?”
The girl gave a short, unamused laugh. “Oh, it was pornographic, all right. In parts. But the whole thing had a doctored look. The story, as it had been accepted up to then, just wouldn’t stand up.”
“Yet you are publishing it.”
She shook her head, “As a matter of fact, we are not. It’s being withdrawn.”
Sir Arthur had been regarding Birdie anxiously. He now half raised a hand, as if he was about to intervene.
Purbright watched the hand, but continued to direct his questions to the girl.
“That decision would be a rather serious one for a newspaper, wouldn’t it?”
“Very serious. And taken most reluctantly.”
“Would Mr Grail, do you think, have felt himself personally responsible for the failure—if that is the word—of the story? The column did bear his name.”
Birdie considered. “He certainly was upset. After all, several things had gone wrong. There was Bob’s court case”—she looked across at Becket—“and then the publicity over that silliness of the mayor’s. He wasn’t terribly fit, you know.”
“Was he not?” The inspector sounded eager to be clear on the point.
“He wasn’t, was he,” Birdie appealed to the others in general. Becket and Lanching made gestures of confirmation. Sir Arthur watched them carefully.
“When did you last see Mr Grail?” Purbright asked.
Again, Birdie glanced about her, as if to escape the singularity of the inquisition. “Yesterday morning,” Lanching volunteered.
“He went out for a walk,” said Becket.
“Did he say where?”
“The housekeeper said she thought he was going to a place called Gosby Vale, wherever that is,” Birdie said. “Mrs Patmore, she’s called. She works for Mr Stamper who owns this house.”
All these names seemed familiar enough to the inspector. “So Mrs Patmore—as far as you know—was the last person here in the house actually to see Mr Grail?”
“I suppose so, yes.”
“But you did hear from him again.”
“Yes, the call from London...well, he said he was in London.”
“That doesn’t now seem likely, does it, Miss Clemenceaux?”
“I can’t imagine why he should have lied.”
Becket leaned forward helpfully. “We’ve said he was upset. Overwrought might be more accurate.”
The barrister, who had been preserving a stiff silence, frowned at this interjection.
“Overwrought,” repeated Purbright. He waited a moment. “Is it your suggestion, sir, that Mr Grail might not have been responsible for his actions?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, but it does seem a possibility, wouldn’t you say?”
The inspector regarded Becket with an expression of newly aroused, but polite, interest. “By the way, in what field do you operate for the paper, sir?”
“I’m a photographer. A free-lance, actually, but the Herald commission me to do particular features from time to time.”
“I see,” said the inspector, pleasantly. “Tell me—I’m not familiar with the workings of journalism—is a photographer chosen on account of some special qualification? Knowledge of the subject, say. Or of the district in question.”
Becket smiled. “Not as a rule. An editor assumes that the honour of working for his paper opens all minds as well as all doors.”
“Ah... So I mustn’t get the idea that you—or any of your three colleagues—was chosen for this assignment by virtue of your having previously worked or lived in the area?”