Выбрать главу

"No, of course I don't, but I knew what you'd think if you found it! I - I lost my head!"

"When did you have this nose-bleed?"

"Last night, after I'd gone up to bed. I put the handkerchief in my suitcase, and then I thought - I thought if you were to find it there it would look suspicious. I heard you were searching the house, and - and I thought I'd better get rid of it!"

"Did you tell anyone about your nose-bleed?"

"No. No, naturally I didn't! It isn't anything to make a fuss about. As a matter of fact, I often get them."

"But this morning, when you were afraid I might find the handkerchief, didn't you think to mention to anyone what had happened?"

"Yes, but I couldn't say it then! I mean, it would have sounded odd. At least, I thought it would. Everyone would have wondered if it was true, or if I was only trying to account for the blood on my handkerchief. Oh, I know I behaved like a fool, but I swear I had nothing to do with the murder!"

"Haven't you ever heard of blood-tests?" asked Hemingway.

"Yes; but suppose my blood and Mr. Herriard's belong to the same group?" objected Roydon. "I thought of that, and it seemed much safer to get rid of the damned thing. Because it could only lead you down a side-track, honestly!"

"Well, if your story's true, you've given me a great deal of trouble through behaving so foolishly," said Hemingway.

"I'm sorry. Of course, I see now that it was silly of me, but the fact of the matter is that this whole affair is getting on my nerves." A sense of grievance overcame him. "I don't think I've been treated at all well!" he complained. "I was invited down here to a friendly party, and first Mr. Herriard was damned rude to me, and then he got himself murdered, and now I know very well I'm under suspicion, and it has nothing whatsoever to do with me!"

"Well, this handkerchief has a good deal to do with you," said Hemingway sternly. "You deliberately tried to conceal it, and that doesn't look any too good, let me tell you!"

"But I didn't do it! I swear I didn't do it! It isn't Mr. Herriard's blood: it's my own!"

"That'll be for others to find out," said Hemingway, and dismissed him.

The Sergeant drew a breath. "Do you believe him, sir?" "It's about what I thought had happened when you first showed me the handkerchief," admitted Hemingway.

"But that story he put up, about being afraid you'd find it!"

"Might easily be true."

The Sergeant looked disappointed. "You made a point when you asked him if he'd mentioned his nose-bleed to anyone."

"I didn't really, but I wanted to see what he'd do if I rattled him. Nose-bleeding's a silly sort of kid's complaint: you don't go round bucking about it."

"Then you do believe him!"

"I've got what wouldn't do you any harm, my lad: an open mind! This is a job for the scientists. Until they tell me that this blood belongs to old Herriard's group, there's nothing I can do about it. You'd better come along, and get some lunch now."

The Sergeant, feeling rather dissatisfied, followed him out into the hall, where he was pounced on by Mottisfont, who said in a complaining tone that he had been waiting to speak to him for a long time.

"Yes, sir, what is it?" asked Hemingway, eyeing him dispassionately.

"I don't know how much longer you propose to take over your investigation," Mottisfont said sarcastically, "but I must point out to you that my time is not my own. I'm a very busy man. I came down here merely to spend Christmas, not to remain indefinitely. I have an important business engagement in town tomorrow, and with all due deference to you I propose to leave in the morning."

"I've no objection, sir," said Hemingway calmly. "You're not being kept here."

"I understood that no one was allowed to leave the house!"

"Did you, sir? Not from me, I'm sure. Of course, I shall want your address, but I shouldn't dream of keeping you here."

Mottisfont looked as though the wind had been taken out of his sails, and was beginning to grumble that he had been misled, when Paula came down the stairs, and interrupted him.

"I suppose you have heard the latest news?" she said. She was not laughing now; she looked hard and angry, and it was evident that she meant to vent her displeasure on as many people as possible.

"What news?" said Mottisfont.

"Oh, so you haven't! Well, you may be interested to hear that Stephen is not the heir, and that I do not get my legacy!"

Mottisfont stared at her. "Do you mean that a later will has been discovered?"

"Oh no! Nothing like that! Merely that this one is invalid!" said Paula savagely.

"Indeed! I am very sorry to hear it, but I can hardly suppose that it concerns me," said Mottisfont.

She laughed shortly. "Not interested, in fact!"

The Inspector said: "Well, I'm interested, at all events, miss. In what way is the will invalid?"

She was too angry to care what she said, or to whom. "It's invalid because it wasn't signed in the presence of the witnesses. That fact has just been disclosed to us by our engaging butler."

Mottisfont gave a slight titter. "How typical of Joseph!" he remarked. "Quite a blow to you and Stephen, I fear!"

"Quite!" said Paula through her teeth.

"You have all my sympathy," he said. "But it is never wise to anticipate, is it?"

"Oh, get out!" she said rudely.

He shrugged, and walked away. The Inspector said: "Well, well, this is quite a surprise, I must say, miss! Very unfortunate for all concerned. How did it come about that the will wasn't witnessed? Mr. Blyth never said anything."

"He didn't know. My precious Uncle Joseph, who started life in a solicitor's office, remembered just enough law to realise that witnesses would be wanted, and he got Sturry and Ford to sign as witnesses. But my Uncle Nat apparently wouldn't have them in his bedroom, and they waited outside to do their stuff. Now it seems that my clear uncle forgot some clause or other, and on account of it the witnesses will be required to swear that they saw Uncle Nat sign his will. And of course, Sturry, as soon as he heard of it, seized the opportunity to queer my brother's pitch, and said he couldn't perjure himself. So that is beautifully that. It would be funny if it weren't so damnable."

The Inspector, who had listened to this with an expression of absorbed interest on his face, said sympathetically that it was a bit of a facer. "I am not what you'd call a whale on these matters myself, miss. What happens to the late Mr. Herriard's estate now?"

"I don't know, and I don't care. I know nothing about law. My brother's telephoning to Mr. Blyth now. He thinks my Uncle Joseph will inherit everything, as next of kin. I expect he's right. It's the sort of ironic thing that would happen!"

"Well, I think, if it's all the same to you, miss, I'll wait to hear the result of this telephone-call," decided Hemingway, laying his hat down on the table.

She shrugged. "Please yourself!"

He had not long to wait. Stephen appeared a moment or two later. In spite of her professed indifference, Paula pounced on him at once, and demanded to know what Blyth had said.

He lifted one eyebrow at the Inspector. "Taken Scotland Yard into your confidence?"

"What the hell does it matter?" she said impatiently.

"That's right," interjected Hemingway. "You don't want to make a stranger out of me, sir."

"I should find it difficult, shouldn't I?" said Stephen. "You're getting to be quite like one of the family. You remind me of a broker's man."

"Ah, I wouldn't know anything about them!" Hemingway retorted, not in the least resentful of this insult. "I've never had one on my premises. They don't like you to in my profession."

Stephen grinned. "You win that round, Inspector, on points."

Paula shook his arm. "Oh, do shut up! What did Blyth say?"