"Flair," corrected Hemingway coldly.
"All right, flair. And I don't deny that I never fancied Miss Herriard, nor Mottisfont, nor that young Roydon. But what I do say, Chief, is that there isn't a bit of real evidence against Joseph, because you don't know how he did it, or when he found the time to do it."
"That," said Hemingway, "is what we are now going to discover."
"Well, I hope you're right, sir; but we've been at it the best part of two days now, and we're no nearer discovery, not as far as I know. Every line we had, or thought we had, broke down. The door-key hadn't been tampered with; the ladder couldn't have been got at; and there isn't a secret way into the room. I'm blessed if I know how we're ever going to make any headway."
"That's right," said Hemingway cheerfully. "And all the time I wouldn't be a bit surprised if the clue to the whole mystery has been under our noses from the outset. Probably something so simple that a child could have spotted it. Life's like that."
"If it's as simple an all that it's a wonder you haven't spotted it," said the Sergeant sceptically.
"It's very likely too simple for me," Hemingway explained. "I was hoping you'd hit on it."
The Sergeant ignored this. "If only we had some finger-prints to help us!" he said. "But everything was gone over so carefully, it doesn't seem to be any use prying that line again. I did think we might have got something from the dagger, but the hilt was as clean as a whistle. And it was plain the other dagger hadn't been toniched, nor the sheath of the one he used. Well, we saw how easily it slipped in and out of the sheath, didn't we? I could have drawn the blade out without touching the sheath, if I'd wanted to, when I took the whole thing down. In fact, now I come to think of it, I never used my Ieft hand at all, and I'll bet he didn't either."
"Just a moment!" said Hemingway, frowning. "I believe you've got something!"
"Got what, sir?"
"Your left hand. Do you remember just what you did do with it when you were up on that chair?"
"I didn't do anything with it, barring -"The Sergeant stopped, and his jaw fell. "Good lord!"
"When you stretched up your right hand, to take the knife down, you steadied yourself with your left hand against the wall. And that, my lad, is ten to one what kind Uncle Joseph did too, without thinking about it any more than you did! Come on, we've got to get hold of the finger-print boys!"
The Sergeant rose, but he had been thinking deeply, and he said: "Hold on a minute, sir! That's raised a point in my mind. I had to stretch up a good bit to reach that knife. Joseph couldn't have got near it, not on a chair."
"Then he didn't use a chair," replied Hemingway impatiently. "I never met anyone like you for trying to throw a spanner in the works!"
"What did he use, then?"
Behind Inspector Hemingway's bright gaze his brain moved swiftly. Once more his excellent memory stood him in good stead. "Christmas decorations: step-ladder!" he said. "Same one Nathaniel fell over on his way up to dinner. Come on!"
Chapter Sixteen
When the uneasy house-party at Lexham arose from the luncheon-table that afternoon, Maud, as usual, went upstairs for her rest, and Mottisfont took possession of the library by the simple expedient of stretching himself out in the easiest armchair and disposing himself to slumber. Paula dragged Roydon away to discuss the casting of Wormwood. Mrs. Dean, in whom the events of the morning had induced a reflective mood, said that she must have a talk with dear Stephen, now that things were so mercifully altered, and suggested that they should go to the morning-room for a cosy little chat. Even Valerie seemed to feel that this was a trifle blatant, for she said frankly: "Oh, Mummy, you are the limit!" Stephen said, with more presence of mind than courtesy, that he was going for a walk with Mathilda, at the same time directing such a menacing look at Mathilda that she meekly acquiesced in this arbitrary plan for her entertainment, and went upstairs to put on a pair of heavy shoes and a thick coat.
They left the house by the garden-room door, and traversing the gardens struck out into the small park. The melting snow had made the ground spongy under their feet; the sky was dull; and the bare tree-branches dripped moisture; but Mathilda drew a long breath, and said: "It's good to get out into the fresh air again. I find the atmosphere in the house rather too oppressive for my taste. Do you think you are definitely in the clear, Stephen?"
"Mrs. Dean does," he replied. "Do you realise that that she-wolf was going to tie me up to Valerie again?"
"Of course, you're such a defenceless creature, aren't you?" she retorted.
"Against battering-rams, I am."
"What did you do it for?" she asked.
"Get engaged to Valerie? I never meant to."
"Little gentleman! A fairly raw deal for her, wasn't it?"
"I don't flatter myself she's broken-hearted."
"No," she conceded. "You treated her pretty rough, though. You're not everybody's money, you know, Stephen."
"By no means." He turned his head, and looked down at her. "Am I yours, Mathilda?"
She did not answer for a moment or two, but strode on beside him, her hands dug into the pockets of her coat. When she thought she could trust her voice, she said: "Is that a declaration?"
"Don't come the ingenue, Mathilda, my love! Of course it is!"
"A bit sudden, isn't it?"
"No, it's belated. I ought to have made it five years ago."
"Why didn't you?"
"I don't know. Took you for granted, I suppose."
"Just a good sort," she remarked.
"You are - a damned good sort. I always looked on you as a second sister."
"You are a fool, Stephen," she said crossly.
"Yes, I knew that as soon as I saw you beside my pretty half-wit."
"Game on you in a flash, no doubt."
"More or less. I never realised until this hellish house party. I don't want to have to live without you."
"I suppose," said Mathilda, staring gloomily ahead, "I might have known that when you did propose you'd do it in some graceless fashion peculiarly your own. What makes you think I want Valerie's leavings?"
"My God, you are a vulgar wench!" Stephen exclaimed, grinning.
"Well?"
"I don't know. I shouldn't think you would want me. But I want you."
"Why? To save you from further entanglements with glamorous blondes?"
"Hell, no! Because I love you."
"Since when?"
"Always, I think. Consciously, since Christmas Eve. I've never quarrelled with you, Mathilda, have I? Do you know, I've never wanted to?"
"That must be a record."
"It is. I won't ever quarrel with you, my sweet. That's a promise."
"It's irresistible."
He stopped, and swung her round to face him, holding her by the shoulders. "Does that mean you'll marry me?"
She nodded, looking up at him with a faint flush in her cheeks. "Somebody's clearly got to keep you in order. It may as well be me."
He pulled her rather roughly into his arms. "O God, Mathilda, do keep me in order!" he said, in a suddenly thickened voice. "I need you! I need you damnably!"
She found that her own voice was unsteady. "I know. You are such a fool, Stephen: such a dear, impossible fool!"
"So are you, to care a damn for me," he said. "I never thought you did. I can't think why you do."
She took his face between her hands, looking up at him a little mistily. "I like savage creatures."
"Bull-terriers and Stephen Herriard."
"That's it. What do you see in me? I'm an ill-favoured woman, my love, and you will have to confront my ugly mug across your breakfast-table all the days of your life."