"Then for heaven's sake, man," said Ronald fervently, "let her. Don't raise one little finger to stop her from such a blessed action."
"I won't," David Stratton said candidly. "But I've got to cover myself."
"How?"
"By warning the police that there's a woman loose who isn't responsible for her actions. Don't you agree that I should, Sheringham?"
"Yes," said Roger. "I don't for one moment think that she's in the least likely to do any such thing, but it certainly won't do any harm to warn the police; and if you tell your wife later that you felt you had to do so, and why, it may give her the fright which, if you'll allow me to say so, she very badly needs."
"Yes," said David briefly. "I'd thought of that."
"All right," Ronald nodded. "Well, you know where the telephone is, David."
David disappeared in the direction of the morning room, and the others loitered in the hall, waiting for him.
"We'll give the poor lad a stiff nightcap before he goes off into the jaws of his doom," Ronald remarked.
"Yes, it's ten to one that he'll find her there when he gets home this time. And I hope he deals with her faithfully. Oh, by the way, Mrs. Williamson found this pipe on the table in the sun parlour. Someone left it there, I suppose. You'd better take charge of it, Ronald."
Ronald glanced at it before he dropped it into his pocket.
"Oh, yes, I know whose this is. It's Phil Chalmers'."
"Just a final nightcap, everyone," said Ronald, as he went towards the bar. "No dissentients, I hope?"
There appeared to be no dissentients. "Do you really think you'd better, Osbert?" doubtfully suggested Mrs. Williamson.
Williamson gazed at her with owlish disapproval. "Are you trying to drive me to drink, Lilian? Don't you know that's absolutely the surest way of making a man drink when he doesn't want to, practically hinting that . . . Isn't it, Sheringham?"
"Absolutely," said Roger.
"Then give me a double," said Mr. Williamson.
Mr. Williamson lurched slightly as he trod on a last step that wasn't there, before emerging on the roof. The others were still finishing their nightcaps, but a sudden craving for fresh air had invaded Mr. Williamson. Fresh air and plenty of it, and space for a man to sway in, was what Mr. Williamson wanted.
He stood just outside the doorway that gave egress to the roof, his back propped against the lintel, and contemplated with some disapproval the gallows in the middle. The lantern which had crowned it had gone out long since, but the gallows itself, and its three grisly occupants, stood out clearly against the moonlit sky.
"Dam' silly idea," commented Mr. Williamson sternly. "Dam' silly. Some people wouldn't like it at all. Some people would dislike it very much. Morbid. Thass word. Morbid. And damsilly."
He set out towards the railing on the other side of the roof, the same railing over which Roger and Ena Stratton had leaned earlier in the evening. It was a railing which seemed to invite leaning. To lean over it now seemed to Mr. Williamson the height of admirable ideas. Leaning is so much less trouble than standing.
It was not really necessary for Mr. Williamson to walk right through the gallows in order to reach the railing. He could quite easily have gone round it. But Mr. Williamson was full of ideas just at present, and to walk right under the middle of the triple gallows seemed a positively brilliant idea. By that gesture he would be able to express all sorts of things; what sort of things did not matter; Mr. Williamson would be able to express them. He steered carefully round a chair that was lying in his path to self - expressionism.
In the same way, it seemed to Mr. Williamson an equally clever idea to halt, right in the middle of the gallows, and hiccough his contempt of them; so halt he did, not without a bit of a lurch. Recovering himself from the lurch, Mr. Williamson happened to knock, quite gently, into one of the dangling figures. The figure, swinging back, promptly dealt him a shrewd buffet in the side.
"Hey!" said Mr. Williamson resentfully.
Mr. Williamson was not drunk. Or, if he had been drunk, he very quickly became almost sober. It was less than half a minute before he realized that it was a very shrewd buffet indeed to have been delivered by a straw figure.
He stared up at the figure in question. Even then Mr. Williamson did not lose his head. He turned round and walked, with some care and extreme dignity, down into the barroom. There he grasped Roger Sheringham by the elbow and drew him firmly aside.
"I say, Sheringham, just come with me a minute, will you? Eh? Just come with me a minute."
"Where to?" Roger asked good - humouredly.
"Just with me. Just in here. Eh? Just come with me."
With great deliberation Mr. Williamson led him into the exact middle of the ballroom floor.
"I say, Sheringham."
"Well?"
"I've found her," said Mr. Williamson.
CHAPTER VI ODOUR OF A RAT
ENA STRATTON was quite dead. There was no doubt about that
With a hurried injunction to Williamson not to alarm the company for the moment, Roger had called Ronald Stratton out as normally as he could and rushed up to the roof with him, breaking the news as he went. There Ronald had held the dangling body up to take its weight off the rope round its neck, while Roger had quickly felt its hands. They were icy cold.
"I'm afraid she's dead," he said, "but we must make quite sure. Run and get a sharp knife, Ronald, and we'll cut her down. And bring Colin back with you; he knows something about first aid. I'll hold her up."
Ronald went and returned with the knife and Colin Nicolson, and Williamson, too, for safety. Between them they cut the cord, which was too thick and stiff to have buried itself in the dead woman's neck, and laid her flat on the roof a little way from the gallows. Nicolson at once set about trying artificial respiration.
Mr. Williamson took one horrified look at the distorted face and then retired to the railing and was sick. Mrs. Stratton was not a soothing sight for a queasy stomach.
After five minutes' strenuous work, Nicolson sat back on his heels. "I'm afraid it's no good. She's gone."
Roger nodded. "I was sure. But we had to try. No one's telephoned for the police, Ronald? You'd better do that at once."
"Yes," Ronald said soberly.
"And your brother hasn't gone yet? Tell him."
"And hadn't we better get her into the house?" Ronald asked doubtfully. "I know one isn't supposed to disturb things, but we had to cut her down, so it can't matter. I don't think we ought to leave her out here. Just in case, you know . . ."
"Well . . ." said Roger.
"It can't matter moving her, in such an obvious case of suicide, man," urged Nicolson. "Ronald's right."
"No," Roger acquiesced. "It can't matter. Well, will you go along, Colin, and get the women somehow into the ballroom? They'd better not see her. Then we'll get her down as soon as Ronald's telephoned."
"We'll get her down before I telephone," said Ronald. "I'll go and fetch David." He made for the door into the house.
Roger raised his eyebrows slightly at Colin. "By rights the police ought to be told the very first thing."
"Ach, what does that matter? Ronald's right. Let's get the poor body comfortable first. It's too cold out here altogether."
"Well, I don't suppose it matters, in this case. And Ronald will have to break the news to the women."
"I'll go down and get them out of the way," said Colin.
Left alone, Roger walked over to comfort Mr. Williamson. "She's quite gone?" asked that gentleman, now somewhat restored and impeccably sober.
"I'm afraid so. But we're going to get her downstairs into the warmth, just in case there's any hope."
"Ah!" said Mr. Williamson profoundly.
Roger looked at him. "What?"