He looked at Nancy. “I hope you’ll forgive me for dragging you in so often.”
“You can’t help it,” she replied. “I dragged myself in by taking Uncle Andy to that bungalow.” She moved her eyes to the district attorney and spoke to him: “Anyway, this is all stupid. I didn’t interrupt before because I thought Mr. Thorpe would want to explain about the gun in any case. But he couldn’t possibly have killed his father, because at the moment the shot was fired he was on the other side of the house behind the rose trellis and I was looking straight at him.”
She might as well have lit the fuse of a giant firecracker and tossed it under their feet.
Miranda stared at her an instant and then jumped and threw her arms around her. Jeffrey goggled at her. Tecumseh Fox threw up his hands. Brissenden and Derwin were speechless. Inspector Damon gazed at her pessimistically.
“Nancy! You lovely Nancy!” Miranda cried, squeezing her.
Jeffrey said in a tone of solemn awe, “By God. But you weren’t. I didn’t kill my father and that will be all right somehow, but you know damn well you didn’t see me.”
Nancy nodded not at him but at Derwin. “Yes, I did. I was looking straight at him when I heard that shot.”
Brissenden started a bark, “You have stated... you have absolutely stated—”
“I know what I’ve stated.” Nancy’s tone was spirited. “I said I didn’t see him. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that all the time I was sitting on the terrace I knew he was there behind the trellis watching me. I did know it. I saw him. The reason I didn’t get up and go somewhere else was that I was tired and didn’t want to move, and it was cool there. I’m telling the truth about it now because — all this about the gun — I couldn’t very well let an innocent man be accused of murder — not even him—”
“Why did you run to the swimming pool?” Derwin demanded.
“Because I thought that was where the shot came from.”
“You have stated that you had been with Jeffrey Thorpe at the swimming pool and you thought he was still there.”
“I had been with him at the swimming pool. Or he had been with me. He followed me. I said I thought he was still there because I wasn’t admitting that I knew he was behind the rose trellis.”
“But if you knew he wasn’t at the pool, why did you think the shot came from there?”
“Because,” said Nancy patiently, “it sounded like it. I’m not an expert on acoustics, but no doubt—”
“I said all along to get him out of here,” Brissenden blurted savagely. “She would never have been able to play that trick if you hadn’t let him—”
“Shut up!” Derwin told him.
Another voice broke in. “May I make a request?” It was Tecumseh Fox. “You fellows are about played out. It’s getting on your nerves and I don’t blame you. Every fish you make a grab for slips right out of your hands. I’ve had it happen to me. Haven’t you, Inspector?”
Damon nodded. “Too often for comfort.”
“What’s your request?” Derwin demanded.
“Nothing very momentous,” Fox assured him.
“I agree with the colonel that it’s sort of crowded in here and I suppose, with this snag you’ve struck, you’ll be starting another series of interviews. Won’t you?”
“If I’m here all night—” Derwin began grimly.
“Sure.” Fox nodded sympathetically. “But before you begin, I request permission to finish a little game I was proposing when that shot interrupted us. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“What kind of a game?”
“I’ll show you. Just a foolish idea of mine.” Fox turned brusquely. “Have you got the pads and pencils, Bellows? There, on the table. Pass them around — here, give me some. Only those who were in here at the time— Here, Mrs. Pemberton, Miss Grant— Take it, Mr. Fuller, you won’t have to write what I say if you don’t like it—”
“Write what?” Brissenden spluttered. “What are you trying to get away with? Let me see one of those pads!”
“I can’t allow this, Fox—” Derwin began; but Inspector Damon muttered at him, “Let him alone, I would. With him you never know.”
Fox tossed him a smile. “Thanks, Inspector. I didn’t know either, but it’s a bright idea.” His eyes swept the group. “For Mr. Jordan, Bellows. That’s right. Now. Each one of you will write what I dictate and put your name beneath it, or your initials will do. As I have said before, it will be a sentence from the Declaration of Independence.”
“Tschah!” Brissenden snorted.
“Certainly,” Fox went on, “there is no compulsion on any of you to humor me, but Mrs. Pemberton kindly consented, so I hope you will. Here’s the sentence—”
“Print it or write it?” Kester inquired.
“Either one, whichever you please. Writing would be faster. Here it is: ‘We mutually pledge to each other our lives...’” He paused. A glance showed him that all eight of the pencils had started to move. He waited a moment. “Got that? ‘We mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.’” He waited again. The last of the pencils to stop movement was Luke Wheer’s. “That’s all. Now please put your name or initials at the bottom — what’s that, Mr. Fuller? That’s all right, here, give it to me, I’ll initial it for you.”
“Give me that pad!” Derwin was at his elbow. “Give me all of them!”
“You won’t know what to do with it, Mr. Derwin,” Fox objected; but after one swift glance at the chirography of Mr. Fuller, he surrendered the pad; and then did the same with each of the others. He moved so swiftly and glanced so briefly at each pad as he handed it over to the district attorney, that before Derwin knew it he was standing there with the stack of pads in his hand and Fox was telling him with a smile:
“You’d better take care of them; they may be needed as evidence.” He encompassed the group with a glance: “Thank you very much.” He spoke again to Derwin, “I’ll be out on the terrace if you want me,” turned on his heel and marched from the room with twenty pairs of eyes staring at him.
Brissenden growled to Inspector Damon, “He’s plain batty.”
Damon shook his head. “Not plain. Very fancy, Fox is. Listen to him.”
As Fox was crossing the hall, his baritone could be heard, just loud enough to reach them: “Lah-de-dah, dum dum, lah-de-dah, dum dum...”
Chapter 21
An hour later, halfway between eleven and midnight, Dan Pavey emerged from the library and favored the two troopers in the side hall with a ferocious scowl. All he got in return was a pair of yawns. He adjusted his left arm to a more comfortable position in its support, a makeshift sling contrived of a folded strip of white muslin, and passed into the music room. Several persons were seated there, but not Tecumseh Fox, so he proceeded towards the main hall. As he entered it, Bellows appeared from somewhere and informed him that Mr. Fox would like to see him upstairs — if he would please follow—
“I’ll show him, Bellows.”
It was Nancy Grant, somehow there. Bellows thanked her and made off. Nancy led the way, with Dan following, up the broad winding stair, down half the length of the wide carpeted corridor, and indicated a door.
“In there,” she said.
“Thanks.”
Nancy stood. He stood. Her mouth opened and closed again.