“It’s quite true,” said Chloris. “There is a good deal of perspiration. Speaking for myself, I’m in a clammy sweat.”
Bailey cleaned their fingers and seemed to cheer up a little. “Now, we’ll just roll them gently on the plate.” he said, holding Mandrake’s forefinger. “Don’t resist me.”
Chloris was making her last finger-print, and Mandrake was cleaning the ink off his own fingers, when Fox came in and beamed upon them.
“Well, well,” said Fox. “So they’re fixing you up according to the regulations? Quite an ingenious little process, isn’t it, sir?”
“Quite.”
“Yes. Miss Wynne won’t care for it so well, perhaps. Nasty dirty stuff isn’t it? The ladies never fancy it for that reason. Well now, that’s very nice,” continued Fox, looking at Chloris’ prints on the paper. “You wouldn’t believe how difficult a simple little affair like this can be made if people resist the pressure. Never resist the police in the execution of their duty. That’s right, isn’t it, sir?” Bailey looked enquiringly at him. “In the drawing-room,” said Fox in exactly the same tone of voice. Bailey wrote on the papers, put them away in his case, and took himself and his belongings out of the room.
“The Chief,” said Fox, who occasionally indulged himself by alluding to Alleyn in this fashion, “would be glad if you could spare him a moment in about ten minutes’ time, Mr. Mandrake. In the library, if you please.”
“All right. Thanks.”
“Do I stay here?” asked Chloris in a small voice.
“Wherever you like, Miss Wynne,” rejoined Fox, looking mildly at her. “It’s not very pleasant waiting about. I daresay you find the time hangs rather heavy on your hands. Perhaps you’d like to join the party in the drawing-room?”
“Not much,” said Chloris, “but I can tell by your style that I’m supposed to go. So I’d better.”
“Thank you, Miss,” said Fox simply. “Perhaps Mr. Mandrake would like to go with you. We’ll see you in the library then, in about ten minutes, sir. As soon as Bailey has finished in the drawing-room. He’ll give you the word when to come along. You might quietly drop a hint to Mr. Royal and Mr. Compline to come with you, if you don’t mind.”
He held the door open and Mandrake and Chloris went out.
“Well, Br’er Fox,” said Alleyn, looking up from the library desk, “did that pass off quietly?”
“Quite pleasantly, Mr. Alleyn. Bailey’s in the drawing-room now, doing the rest of the party. I unloosed the Doctor. It seemed silly, him being up there behind a lock a moron could fix in two minutes. So he’s in with the rest. His good lady doesn’t much fancy being printed.”
Alleyn grinned. “The expression ‘His good lady’ as applied to la belle Lisse-Hart,” he said, “is perfect, Fox.”
“I put the young couple in with the others,” Fox continued. “I’ve got an idea that Mr. Mandrake was a bit inquisitive about what we were doing in the smoking-room. He kept looking over at the door and when he saw I’d noticed, he looked away again. So I told him to come along and bring the other two with him as soon as we tip him the wink. You want independent witnesses, I suppose, sir?”
“Yes. What about Lady Hersey?”
“I haven’t said anything. We can fetch her away when we want her.”
“We’ll send Bailey to fetch her away, fetch her away, fetch her away,” Alleyn murmured under his breath. And then: “I’ve never felt less sympathy over a homicide, Br’er Fox. This affair is not only stupid but beastly, and not only beastly but damn’ cold-blooded and unnatural. However, we must watch our step. There’s a hint of low cunning in spite of the mistakes. I hate the semipublic reconstruction stunt — it’s theatrical and it upsets all sorts of harmless people. Still, it has its uses. We’ve known it to come off, haven’t we?”
“We have so,” said Fox sombrely. “I wonder how Bailey’s getting on with that mob in there.”
“See here, Fox, let’s make sure we’ve got it right.”
Fox looked benignly at his chief: “It’s all right sir. You’ve worked it out to a hair. It can’t go wrong. Why, we’ve tried it half-a-dozen times.”
“I meant the case as a whole.”
“You’ve got your usual attack of the doubts, Mr. Alleyn. I’ve never seen a clearer case.”
Alleyn moved restlessly about the room. “Disregard those two earlier farces and we’ve still got proof,” he said.
“Cast-iron proof.”
“In a funny sort of way it all hangs on this damned cheerful fellow, Thomas. The dancing footman. He defines the limit of the time factor and the possible movements of the murderer. Add to this the ash, H. St. J. W. R.’s fishing-line, the stuff on the wireless, and William’s drawing-pin, and there’s our case.”
“And a very pretty case, too.”
“Not so pretty,” Alleyn muttered. And then: “I’ve never asked for your views on this war, Foxkin.”
Fox stared at him. “On the war? Well, no sir, you haven’t. My view is that it hasn’t started.”
“And mine. I believe that in a year’s time we shall look back on these frozen weeks as on a strangely unreal period. Does it seem odd to you, Fox, that we should be here, so solemnly tracking down one squalid little murderer, so laboriously using our methods to peer into two deaths, while over our heads are stretched legions of guns? It’s as if we stood on the edge of a cracking landslide, swatting flies.”
“It’s our job.”
“And will continue to be so. But to hang someone — now! My God, Fox, it’s almost funny.”
“I see what you mean.”
“It’s nothing. Only one of those cold moments. We’ll get on with our cosy little murder. Here comes Bailey.”
Bailey came in carrying his gear.
“Well,” said Alleyn, “have you fixed that up?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any objections?”
“The foreign lady. She didn’t like the idea of blacking her fingers. Or that’s what she said. Gave quite a bit of trouble in a quiet way.”
“And the rest of the party?”
“Jumpy,” said Bailey. “Not saying much for stretches at a time and then all talking at once, very nervous and quick. Mr. Royal and Mr. Compline seem unfriendly to the Doctor and keep looking sideways at him. He’s the coolest of the lot, though. You’d think he wasn’t interested. He doesn’t take any notice of the lady except to look at her as if he was surprised or something. Will you see the prints, Mr. Alleyn?”
“Yes, we’ll look at them and check them with what you found on the rest of the stuff. It won’t be very illuminating but it’s got to be done. Then we’ll have those four in here, and try for results. It’ll do no harm to keep them guessing for a bit. Come on, Fox.”
“What’s the time?” asked Nicholas. Hersey Amblington looked at her wrist-watch. “A quarter past eight.”
“I have explained, haven’t I,” said Jonathan, “that there’s a cold buffet in the dining-room?”
“You have, Jo,” said Hersey. “I’m afraid none of us feels like it.”
“I am hungry,” Dr. Hart observed. “But I cannot accept the hospitality of a gentleman who believes me to be a murderer.” Jonathan made an angry little noise in his throat.
“My dear Dr. Hart,” Hersey ejaculated, “I really shouldn’t let a point of etiquette hold you off the cold meats. You can’t starve.”
“I expect to be released tomorrow,” said Hart, “and a short abstinence will be of no harm. I habitually overeat.” He looked at his wife, who was staring at him with a sort of incredulous wonder. “Do I not, my dear?” asked Dr. Hart.
Nicholas moved to her side. She turned to him and very slightly shrugged her shoulders.