Deborah was sitting in one of the winged chairs before the fireplace. Catherine and Felix stood behind her, Felix upright and watchful, Catherine with her arms stretched over the back of the chair and her hands resting on Deborah's shoulders in an attitude which was half-protective, half-comforting. Deborah did not seem to 'JAO resent it. Her head was thrown back. Her high-necked shirt was open and a yellow chiffon scarf dangled from her hand. Even from the door Stephen could see the purpling bruise above the thin shoulderblades.
Dagleish was sitting opposite her, relaxed on the edge of his chair, but his eyes were watchful. He and Felix Hearne confronted each other like cats across a room. Somewhere in the background Stephen was conscious of the ubiquitous Sergeant Martin with his notebook. In the second before anyone spoke or moved the little gilded clock chimed the threequarters, dropping each beautiful note into the silence like a crystal pebble.
Stephen moved swiftly to his sister's side and bent his head to kiss her. The smooth cheek was icy cold against his lips. As he drew back her eyes met his with a look which was hard to interpret. Could it have been entreaty - or warning? He looked at Felix.
"What happened?" he asked. "Where's my mother?"
"Upstairs with Mr. Maxie. She spends most of the day with him now. We told her that Inspector Dalgleish was making a routine visit. There's no need to add to her worries. Or Martha's either. If Martha takes fright and decides to go it will mean importing another trained nurse and we can't cope with that just now. Even if we could find one who would be willing to come."
"Aren't you forgetting something," said Stephen roughly. "What about Deborah? Do we all sit back quietly and wait for another attempt?" He resented both Felix's calm assumption of responsibility for the family arrangements and the inference that someone had to cope with these matters while the son of the house put his professional responsibilities before his family. It was Dalgleish who answered: "I am looking after Mrs. Riscoe's safety, Doctor. Would you please examine her throat and let me know what you think."
Stephen turned to him. ‹I prefer not to. Dr. Epps treats my family. Why not call him?"
"I'm asking you to look at the throat, not to treat it. This isn't the time to indulge in spurious professional scruples. Do as I say, please."
Stephen bent his head again. After a moment he straightened up and said, "He grasped the neck with both hands just above and behind the shoulder-blades.
There is fairly extensive bruising but no nail scratches and no thumb-marks. The grip could have been with the base of the thumbs in front and the fingers behind.
The larynx is almost certainly untouched.
I should expect the bruises to fade in a day or two. There's no real harm done." he added, "Physically at any rate."
"In other words," said Dalgleish, "it was rather an amateur effort?"
"If you care to put it like that."
"I do care. Doesn't it suggest to you that this assailant knew his job rather well? Knew where to apply pressure and how much to apply without causing harm?
Are we expected to believe that the person who killed Miss Jupp with such expertise couldn't do better than this? What do you think, Mrs. Riscoe?"
Deborah was buttoning up her shirt.
She shrugged herself free of Catherine's proprietary grasp and rewound the chiffon scarf round her neck.
"I'm sorry you're disappointed, Inspector. Perhaps next time he'll make a better job of it. He was quite expert enough for me, thank you." ‹I must say you seem to be taking it very coolly," cried Catherine indignantly. "If Mrs. Riscoe hadn't managed to shake herself free and scream she wouldn't be alive now. Obviously he got the best grip he could in the dark but was scared off when she called out. And this may not have been the first attempt. Don't forget that the sleeping-drug was put into Deborah's mug."
"I haven't forgotten that, Miss Bowers.
Nor that the missing bottle was found under her name stake. Where were you last night?"
"Helping to nurse Mr. Maxie. Mrs. Maxie and I were together for the whole of the night, except when we went to the bathroom. We were certainly together from midnight onwards."
"And Dr. Maxie was, in London. This attack has certainly happened at a convenient time for you all. Did you see this mysterious strangler, Mrs. Riscoe? Or recognize him?"
"No. I wasn't sleeping very deeply. I think I was having a nightmare. I woke up when I felt the first touch of his hands on my throat. I could feel his breath on my face but I couldn't recognize him. When I screamed and felt for the light switch he made off through the door. I put on the light and screamed. I was terrified. It wasn't a rational fear even. Somehow my dream and the attack had merged together.
I couldn't tell where one horror ended and the other began."
"And yet when Mrs. Bultitaft arrived you said nothing?"
"I didn't want to frighten her. We all know there's a strangler about but we've got to get on with our jobs. It wouldn't help her to know."
"That shows a commendable concern for her peace of mind, but less for her safety. I must congratulate you all on your insouciance in the face of this homicidal maniac. For that is obviously what he is.
Surely you are not trying to tell me that Miss Jupp was killed by mistake, that she was mistaken for Mrs. Riscoe?"
Felix spoke for the first time. "We're not trying to tell you anything. It's your job to tell us. We only know what happened. I agree with Miss Bowers that Mrs. Riscoe is in danger. Presumably you're prepared to offer her the protection she's entitled to."
Dalgleish looked at him.
"What time did you reach Mrs. Riscoe's room this morning?"
"About half a minute after Mrs. Bultitaft, I suppose. I got out of bed as soon as Mrs. Riscoe called out."
"And neither you nor Mrs. Bultitaft saw the intruder?"
"No. I presume he was down the stairs before we came out of our rooms.
Naturally I made no search as I wasn't told until this afternoon what had happened. I've looked since, but there's no trace of anyone."
"Have you any idea how this person got in, Mrs. Riscoe?"
"It could have been through one of the drawing-room windows. We went into the garden last night and must have forgotten to lock it. Martha mentioned that she found it open this morning."
"By 'we' do you mean yourself and Mr. Hearne?"
"Yes."
"Were you wearing your dressing-gown by the time your maid arrived in your room?"
"Yes. I had just put it on."
"And Mrs. Bultitaft accepted your story of a nightmare and suggested that you should spend the remainder of the night by the electric fire in her room?"
"Yes. She didn't want to go back to bed herself, but I made her. First of all we had a pot of tea together by her fire."
"So it comes to this," said Dalgleish.
"You and Mr. Hearne take an evening walk in the garden of a house where there has recently been a murder and leave a french window open when you come in. In the night some unspecified man comes to your room, makes an inexpert attempt at strangling you for no motive which you or anyone else can suggest and then vanishes, leaving no trace. Your throat is so little affected that you are able to scream with enough force to attract the people sleeping in near-by rooms yet, by the time they arrive in a matter of minutes, you have recovered from your fright sufficiently to lie about what has happened, a lie made more effective by the fact that you have taken the trouble to get out of bed and put on your dressinggown with its concealing collar. Does that strike you as rational behavior, Mrs. Riscoe?"
"Of course it doesn't," said Felix roughly. "Nothing that has happened in this house since last Saturday has been rational. But even you can hardly suppose that Mrs. Riscoe tried to strangle herself.