“Immy—”
“I know, you’ve never told the children. Tell them now. Tell them.”
“It’s all right, Mama,” said Henry, “we know all about Uncle G.’s bits of nonsense.”
“Mummy’s right,” said Frid. “For God’s sake let’s stick to it. Aunt V. won’t be hanged. It’s odds on she did it. Then let them know as much as we know. The twins have put themselves in a pretty bad light with their Sydney Carton stuff. Let’s get them out of it. If it’s a twin or Aunt V., personally I prefer the twin. If she jabbed Uncle G. in the eye with a meat skewer—”
“I know,” said Henry, “but if she didn’t?”
“If she didn’t, she only gets shut up. Which is what she ought to be anyway.”
“What,” asked Henry, “does Robin think?”
But Robin, jerked abruptly into the picture, her thoughts racing down strange corridors, could only say with desperate emphasis that she knew none of them had done it, that she would do anything to save them from suspicion. And then, catching her breath over the implication of this avowal, she stopped short and looked with something like horror into Henry’s eyes.
“It’s no good, Robin,” said Henry, “you’ve got your views. So have I. I’ve only just realized it. But I’ve got them.”
“What do you mean, Henry?” demanded Charlot, clenching her hands. “We’ve only got a few seconds. That man will be back.”
“We can still talk in French,” said Frid.
“It’s not the same. We don’t understand each other in the same way.”
“We don’t understand each other now,” said Henry.
“I don’t know what you mean,” cried Charlot.
“I mean that I don’t think Aunt V. killed Uncle G.”
“Why, why, why?”
“Because she’s asked for his body.”
“She’s mad,” said Frid.
“Mad or sane, and in my opinion she’s not as mad as all that, I don’t believe she’d want his company if she’d dug a skewer into his brain and murdered him.”
Nobody answered Henry. The silence was broken by Lady Katherine Lobe. Lady Katherine had turned her deaf, inquisitive face to each of the Lampreys as they spoke. She now rose and going to her nephew laid her hand upon his arm.
“Charlie, my dear,” she said, “what has happened to Violet? She looks like a lost soul. Charlie, what has Violet done?”
But before Lord Charles could answer his aunt the door opened, and the constable returned.
CHAPTER XII
ACCORDING TO THE WIDOW
Alleyn sat at the head of the dining-room table with Fox at his right hand and Dr. Curtis at his left. Lady Wutherwood sat at the far end, with Tinkerton and the nurse standing behind her chair like a couple of eccentric parlour-maids. In the background, and just inside the door, stood a constable, looking queerly at home without his helmet. A little closer to the table and gravely attentive, Dr. Kantripp looked on at this odd interview. At their first meeting Dr. Kantripp had warned Alleyn that Lady Wutherwood was greatly shaken. “I suppose she is,” Alleyn had said; “one expects that, but you mean something else, don’t you?” And Kantripp, looking guarded, muttered about hysteria, possible momentary derangement, extreme and morbid depression. “In other words, a bit dotty,” Alleyn grunted. “Curtis had better have a look at her, if you don’t mind.” He left the doctors together and afterwards accepted Dr. Curtis’ view that Kantripp was walking like Agag but that it might be as well to wait a bit before they attempted an interview with Lady Wutherwood. “She’s got a nasty eye,” Curtis said. “I couldn’t get her to utter. Can’t say anything on a mere look at the woman but she don’t seem too bright. Kantripp’s their family doctor but he’s never seen her before. He seems to have got wind of a dubious history. Private home. Periods of depression. I should go slow.”
So Alleyn went slow, finished his examination of the flat and the servants, had his general interview with the family and his separate interviews with Mike and Patch. Patch, under pressure and with evidence of the livliest reluctance, had informed him that while father and uncle talked together in the drawing-room she and her brothers and sister, together with Roberta, had lain on the dining-room floor. It had been a kind of game, she said. “Game be damned,” Alleyn had said after Patch left them. “Look at that corner of the room. It’s out of the regular beat and the carpet retains its pristine pile. That’s where they lay. There’s a smudge of brown boot polish off the toes of one of those blasted twin’s shoes. Come over here.” He knelt by the sealed door. “Yes, and there’s a bit of red close to the crack. I can hear a murmuring of voices. Have a listen, Br’er Fox.”
Fox lay on the carpet and advanced his brick-coloured face towards the crack.
“By gum,” he said, “They’re talking French. It’s the twin that doesn’t stammer. Can you beat that? Taisez-vous, donc. That’s French.”
“So it is,” said Alleyn. “Leave them to it, just now, Br’er Fox. Yes, there’s no doubt about it they had their ears to that sealed-up door there. Listening. Have you seen the bum, Fox?”
“Yes, Mr. Alleyn. It’s a matter of forty-one pounds. Lane & Eagle, house decorators of Beauchamp Place, put him in. Carpet, and a couple of arm-chairs. His name is Grimball, not Grumball. They wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised if this Giggle is really called Higgins or something. They’re like that — funny.”
“If they continue funny through this case,” Alleyn rejoined, “it’ll be a tour de force. Let them crack jokes at the coroner and see how he likes it.”
“Grimball says they’re a very nice family.”
“So they may be. Damn’ good company and as clever as a cage full of monkeys. Theyll diddle us if we don’t look out, Br’er Fox. The Lady Friede’s as hard as they come. They’ve taken a line and they’re going to stick to it. Look at those blasted twins. The noble lords Stephen and Colin, doing a Syracuse and Ephesus comedy turn. How the devil are we to find out which of them went down in the lift?”
“The widow?” Fox suggested.
“Don’t you believe it. If they weren’t very certain of themselves they wouldn’t have taken the risk. I’ll bet you their aunt will say she didn’t know which twin it was. Equally I’ll bet you their mother knows, and has taken her cue from her lily-white boys. Of course she knows. Can a mother’s tender care muddle up the kids she bare, bad luck to them?”
“I never heard anything like it,” said Fox warmly. “Trying to work off this twin stuff on the investigating officers. It’s unheard of. You can’t have that sort of nonsense.”
“And what are you going to do about it?”
“It’s disgraceful. Come to think of it, it’s a kind of contempt.”
“It’s no good getting cross, Foxkin. Let us but once lose our tempers with the Lampreys and we’re done. Yes? Come in. Open the door, Gibson.”
The red-headed constable, who had tapped on the door, was admitted by his mate.
“Why have you left your post?” snapped Fox.
“What is it, Martin?” asked Alleyn.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but I thought I’d better come. The Dowager Lady Wutherwood’s in the passage and wants to see you. So I thought I’d better come.”
“And as soon as you turned your back,” said Fox angrily, “they got together and agreed on the tale they’d tell.”
“They’ve already done that, sir.”
“What!”
“While you were there?” asked Alleyn.
“Yes, sir. They spoke in French, sir. I’ve got it down in shorthand. They speak quite good French, with the exception of Lady Patricia. I thought that before proceeding, you’d like to see what they said.”