"Yes, and that raises a question," Peter put in. "If he was murdered last night, there must have been a bit of a struggle. The fragment of skin proves that. And you can't chloroform a man without overpowering him first. If the Monk did it, why didn't Duval draw his knife? He must have had time, because as soon as he set eyes on the Monk he'd have been on his guard. The Monk can't have taken him unawares in his own house. Was the knife on him?"
"Yes, sir, it was. But you can look at it in another way. We know from what Duval said to Mr. Malcolm here the very night he died that he hadn't seen the Monk's face then. He'd discovered something, but it seems fairly plain it wasn't the Monk. If you think it over, he had precious little time to discover who the Monk was in between the time when Mr. Malcolm says he left the Priory, and you found him hanging in his cottage. From the fact of his evidently having been taken by surprise, since he never got the chance to draw his knife, doesn't it look as though whoever it was who went to his cottage didn't go in his disguise of a Monk? Looked at in that light, my reading of the thing is that the person who visited Duval didn't rouse any suspicion in him. He didn't know who the Monk was; some man whom he didn't suspect at all came to his house, possibly with a plausible excuse. He let him in, and before he knew where he was this person had clapped the pad over his face. We'll say there was a struggle: it looks as though the murderer was a pretty strong man. Duval was a bit of a weed, besides being weakened by the dope he took, but you try holding a handkerchief over a man's face when that man's struggling. It's not easy, and a struggle there must have been. But you can understand Duval trying too hard to wrench his assailant's hand away from his mouth to have time to try and get at his knife. For what it's worth, I found a broken plate in the kitchen, but the place was such a pig-sty there's no saying it was put there by the murderer. Still, it might have been, and we know he set the room to rights when he'd finished Duval. One of the cold-blooded ones, he is: you do find 'em sometimes. He staged the whole thing to look like a suicide, and it's the doctor's opinion he was cute enough to remove any of the pad that may have got into Duval's mouth. But that scrap you saw the doctor extract from Duval's right nostril he missed. The doctor only found it with his forceps. If it hadn't been for that it would have looked like a clear case of suicide, especially with a man of Duval's temperament. But a man don't chloroform himself when he sets out to commit suicide by hanging, and even if he did, that's ruled out by the fact that there was no trace of the bottle, nor the pad either. No, it's murder right enough, and if you ask me, murder by some person whom Duval didn't dream was likely to attack him."
Both men had listened to him in attentive silence. "If that is so," Charles said slowly, "it seems to exonerate Strange. For if I'm not very much mistaken Duval was afraid of Strange."
"But did he suspect him of being the Monk?" Peter asked.
"No, I don't know that he did, but he thought Strange had something to do with the Monk. At least, so I infer from what he said when he saw Strange come into the bar yesterday morning."
The inspector was fingering the typewritten statement. "I wouldn't go about saying Strange did this, sir," he said slowly.
"Well, naturally not, but you must admit things look pretty black against him. Did you see him after we'd left you last night?"
"Yes, sir, I saw him. You'll understand I can't tell you anything about him, but you can set your mind at rest on one point: there's nothing Strange can do that we shan't know about. So in case you were feeling that we are leaving any dangerous person at large you can be sure that his doings are known to us, and you don't stand in danger from him."
"I must say, I'm glad to hear you're keeping a watch on him," Charles said, preparing to get up. "Well, we mustn't waste your time. If there's nothing else you want me to tell you I think we'd better be pushing off."
"No, sir, nothing else, only to remind you again not to talk of this. The inquest will be held here at eleven-thirty on Tuesday."
Charles nodded. "We'll be here. I take it I shan't be wanted to speak about Duval's fears of the Monk?"
The inspector came as near to a wink as so staid an individual could. "The coroner won't want to hear any ghost stories, sir," he said meaningly.
Chapter Fourteen
The news of Duval's death had spread round the neighbourhood as such news does spread, and when it was known that the people to discover the corpse were Charles Malcolm and Peter Fortescue, not only Roote and Colonel Ackerley, but Mr. Titmarsh as well, all found excuses to call at the Priory on the chance of picking up some fresh news. The Colonel, who knew the family best, was entirely frank. "Sheer curiosity, Mrs. Malcolm," he twinkled. "That's what's brought me up to see you." But even he could extract nothing more from Charles and Peter than was already known.
Mr. Titmarsh said that he had come to inquire how Margaret was after her experience on Thursday; Dr Roote thought that he had left his scarf at the Priory on Saturday evening. And both gentlemen tried their hardest to pump Charles, and went away dissatisfied. On Monday morning Celia met Mrs. Pennythorne, the Vicar's wife, in the village shop. Mrs. Pennythorne was far too adroit to ask questions, but she greeted Celia most effusively, and said that she had been meaning for some days to ask the whole Priory party over to dinner. As Celia was perfectly well aware of the fact that Mrs. Pennythorne did not like her, she was not taken in by this, and she declined the invitation to dine at the Vicarage on the following evening on the score of the inquest, which might last till late. Not to be baulked, Mrs. Pennythorne begged her to choose her own day, and she was so persistent that Celia was forced to accept an invitation for Wednesday.
When she broke the news to the family there was an outcry from all but Mrs. Bosanquet, who said reprovingly that the Vicar was a most interesting man, and she should be glad of an opportunity of consulting him as to the best method of exorcising unquiet spirits.
"All right," Charles said. "You go, and say the rest of us have developed smallpox."
"You and I have simply got to go," Celia said. "I'd have got out of it if I could, but she just wouldn't take no for an answer. But I really didn't see that it was fair to let you all in for it, so I said I couldn't speak for the rest of you. If Aunt Lilian wants to go surely three of us'll be enough. You don't want to, do you, Margaret?"
"Not much!" Margaret said. "You're a true friend and sister, Celia. Peter and I will spend a tete-a-tete evening."
"She may be a true sister, but as a wife she's a stumer," Charles announced. "Anyone with a grain of resource would have said that I was so unnerved by finding Duval's body that only complete quiet could restore me."
"I hardly think she'd have been convinced," Celia replied. "By the way, Margaret and I can come to the inquest, can't we?"
"If you like," Charles answered. "But it won't be at all interesting."
Mrs. Bosanquet assumed her most disapproving cxpression. "If you take my advice, my dears, you will stay quietly at home with me. You do not want people to think you are some of these sensation-hunters we hear so much about nowadays. In my opinion, inquests and murder trials are not things that can interest women of breeding."
"But this is different, because Chas and Peter are mixed tip in it," Celia objected. "Besides, everyone's going, even Mr. Titmarsh. Colonel Ackerley said that though he didn't want to seem heartless, Framley hasn't had anything so thrilling happen since he came to live here."