“Oh, yes! Uncle hated things to be left about.”
“Is this how you'd expect to find a drawer in his desk?”
She blinked at it. “I don't know. I mean, I never went to his desk. I shouldn't have dreamed of opening any of his drawers.”
“I see. Well, if you've no objection, I'll pack this lot up, and go through it at my leisure. Then you won't have to have the house cluttered up with policemen any longer. Everything will be returned to you in due course.” He got up. “See to it, will you, Harbottle? Now, Miss Warrenby, are there any other papers? No safe in the house?”
“Oh, no! Uncle kept all his important papers at the office, I think.”
“Then I won't be taking up any more of your time,” he said. She escorted him into the hall, where they were immediately joined by Mrs. Midgeholme and the Ultimas. Delicacy had prevented Mrs. Midgeholme from accompanying them to the study, but she was plainly agog with curiosity, and would have done her best to ferret out of the Chief Inspector the discovery of a possible clue had not Miss Patterdale at that moment walked in at the open front-door. As she was accompanied by her lumbering canine friend, a scene of great confusion followed her entrance, Mrs. Midgeholme uttering dismayed cries, and both the Ultimas bouncing at the Labrador, Ulysses in a very disagreeable way, and Untidy in a spirit of shameless coquetry. Rex, though good-natured, took very little interest in the Ultimas, but Mrs. Midgeholme was obsessed by the fear that he would one day lose patience with their importunities and maul them hideously. By this time she had succeeded in catching her pets, and scooping them up into her arms, assuring them, quite unnecessarily, that there was nothing for them to be afraid of, Mavis had explained to Miss Patterdale that the stranger was a detective from Scotland Yard: and Miss Patterdale, screwing her glass still more firmly into her eye, had looked him over and said that she was sorry to hear it.
“I knew that this was going to lead to a lot of unpleasantness,” she said. “Well, it has nothing to do with me, but I do trust you won't wantonly stir up any scandal in Thornden!”
“Oh, Miss Patterdale, I'm sure there isn't anything like that to stir up!” said Mavis.
“Nonsense! everyone has something in his life he'd rather wasn't made public. Isn't that so— What's your name?”
“I'm Chief Inspector Hemingway, madam. And I'm bound to say there's a great deal in what you say. However, we do try to be discreet.”
“For my part,” said Mrs. Midgeholme, “I often say my life is an open book!” She added, with a jolly laugh: “Which anyone may read, even the police!”
“I don't suppose the police have the slightest wish to do so,” replied Miss Patterdale, correctly assessing the Chief Inspector's feelings. “I looked in to see how you're getting on, Mavis, and to ask you if you'd like to come down to the cottage to share my supper. Abby's gone to the Haswells.”
“My own errand!” exclaimed Mrs. Midgeholme, struck by the coincidence. “And Lion would be only too pleased to escort her back later, but will she be sensible, and come? No!”
“It's very, very kind of you both,” said Mavis earnestly, “but somehow I'd rather stay at home today, by myself.”
“Well, I shall leave Miss Patterdale to deal with you, my dear!” said Mrs. Midgeholme, perceiving that Hemingway was about to leave the house, and determined to accompany him.
The Ultimas still tucked under her arms, she sailed down the garden path beside him, saying mysteriously that there was something important she felt she ought to tell him. “I couldn't say anything in front of Miss Warrenby, so I just bided my time till I could get you alone,” she said confidentially.
The Sergeant could have told Hemingway that Mrs. Midgeholme was unlikely to have anything of the smallest interest to impart. He grimaced expressively at Harbottle, but that saturnine gentleman merely smiled grimly, and shook his head.
Encouraged by an enquiring look from Hemingway, Mrs. Midgeholme said: “To my mind, there isn't a shadow of doubt who shot Mr. Warrenby. It's one of two people—for although I always think Delia Lindale is a hard young woman, I don't think she would actually shoot anyone. No, I never quite like people with those pale blue eyes, but I beg you won't run away with the idea that I have the least suspicion about her! It's her husband. What's more, if he did it, it's my belief she knows it. I popped in to see her this morning, just to talk things over, and the instant I opened my mouth she tried to turn the subject. She gave me the impression of being in a very nervy state—not to say scared! She didn't talk in what I call a natural way, and she didn't seem able to keep still for as much as five minutes. Either she thought she heard the child crying, or she had to go out to speak to Mrs. Murton, her daily woman. Something fishy here, I thought to myself.” She nodded, but added surprisingly: “But that's not what I wanted to say to you. It may have been Kenelm Lindale, but only if it wasn't someone else. Ladislas Zama-something-or-other!”
“Yes, I wondered when we were coming to him,” said Hemingway, with deceptive affability.
“Now, I couldn't say a word about him in front of Miss Warrenby, because the poor girl, I'm afraid, is very fond of him. I always did think it would be a most unsuitable match, and, of course, if he killed Mr. Warrenby, it really wouldn't do at all.”
“Well, if he did that, madam, he won't be in a position to marry Miss Warrenby, or anyone else,” Hemingway pointed out. “But what makes you think he did?”
“If you knew the way he's been running after the girl, you wouldn't ask me that!” said Mrs. Midgeholme darkly.
“I daresay I wouldn't, but then, you see, I'm new to these parts.”
“Yes, that's exactly why I'm being perfectly frank with you. My husband says the least said the soonest mended, but there I disagree with him! It's one's duty to tell the police what one knows, and I know that never would Sampson Warrenby have consented to such a marriage. He forbade his niece to have anything to do with Mr. Ladislas, and if he's so much as guessed she was still seeing him behind his back—well, there would soon have been an end to that young man!”
“You think he'd have done the shooting instead?”
“No, I don't go as far as that, for though I've no doubt he'd have been capable of it, he was far too sly and clever to do anything like that. Mr. Ladislas would have found himself out of a job, and been obliged to leave the district. Don't ask me how Warrenby would have managed that! I only know he would. He was that kind of man. And of course Mr. Ladislas must have guessed he'd leave his money to his niece, even if he didn't know it for a fact, which he may have done. And he was actually seen turning into this lane that afternoon! If he didn't know Miss Warrenby was at the Haswells', all I can say is that I'm surprised. I won't put it any more strongly than that: just surprised! So there we have him, on the spot, with a motive, and, I ask you, what more do you want?”