Algy laughed.
“In other words, you mean Mr. Zero might have done it in four minutes. But then why should Mr. Zero have been in a hurry?”
“We should be interested to know that,” said Mr. Brook. “Perhaps you will answer your own question.”
Algy smiled.
“I’m afraid only Mr. Zero could do that.”
There was a momentary silence-rather a concentrated sort of silence. It said, with no need of words, “Well, here you are-the game’s up. Why not make a clean breast of it?”
It would have given Algy the most extraordinary pleasure to take the Inspector by the scruff of his neck and bang his face on the table, chuck little Brook through the window, and let fly with the inkpot at old Anstruther. Instead he maintained an admirable self-control and waited for somebody else to speak.
The silence was broken by Mr. Brook.
“Lady Colesborough says she heard the clock strike twelve just before she left her room. I have ascertained that this clock is five minutes fast. It was therefore six or seven minutes past twelve before she left the house. That would allow Mr. Zero six or seven minutes to arrive at the rendezvous before she got there.”
“But you don’t know when Mr. Zero started, or where he was coming from-do you?” said Algy.
“Don’t we?” said Mr. Brook. “I wonder. But we know when you started, Mr. Somers. You could easily have reached the rendezvous before Lady Colesborough got there.”
Algy contemplated him with amusement.
“I’m afraid that doesn’t help you very much.”
“No? Well, we shall see. Meanwhile here is a provisional timetable. 11.58, Miss Hardwicke enters the drive. 12 o’clock, Mr. Somers enters the drive; Lady Colesborough prepares to leave her room. 12 to 12.05, Lady Colesborough leaves the house by the parlour door; Sir Francis follows her. 12.05, Mr. Zero arrives at the rendezvous. 12.07, Lady Colesborough arrives at the rendezvous. 12.08 to 12.09, Sir Francis gets there after skirting the rose garden. 12.10, Sir Francis is shot. 12.11, Miss Hardwicke arrives and finds Lady Colesborough holding the pistol. The butler Sturrock says it was just after a quarter past twelve when the alarm-bell rang and aroused the servants’ wing.”
“Quite so,” said Algy. “May I point out, however, that your timetable rests chiefly on guesswork? Miss Hardwicke and I can corroborate each other as to the time she left the car, and Sturrock’s evidence as to the time the alarm-bell rang probably has the support of the rest of the staff, but between 12 and 12.15 you’re just guessing, and you know it. It’s no use asking anyone who has ever met Lady Colesborough to expect her to be accurate about time. If she said she heard a clock strike just before she left her room, it might have been one minute before or it might have been ten-I don’t suppose she’d notice the difference.” He turned to Colonel Anstruther. “You’ve been talking to her, sir. Would you expect her to be accurate-well, about anything?”
“Woman’s a half-wit,” said Colonel Anstruther. “Waste of time talking to her-waste of time asking her anything. Hasn’t got a mind, and doesn’t try to use whatever it is she’s got instead. I’ll give you that if it’s any use to you, Mr. Somers-you’ll want all you can get. Any more questions, Mr. Brook?”
Mr. Brook shook his head.
XXV
When are we going to get away from this horrible place?” said Gay.
She and Algy Somers were standing side by side, looking out from the drawing-room across the terrace and the lawn to the rose, garden divided and enclosed by the dark T shape of the yew walk. There were five windows, straight and rather narrow, all hung with curtains of pale, cold brocade which repeated the faded green of the winter grass and the grey and blue of the winter sky. Gay and Algy were at the middle window, standing close but not looking at one another. They looked instead at the lawn where they had groped in the dark, and the black mouth of the tunnel down which they had run to find a murdered man.
“When are we going to get away from this horrible place, Algy?”
Algy smiled.
“I don’t know, my child-when they’ve made up their minds whether to arrest me at once or to wait for the inquest. You’ll have to stay for the inquest anyhow, I’m afraid, but you’ll be able to go as soon as it’s over. If I’m not figuring as the accused by then, I shall be able to go too-we might even go together.”
Gay swung round with a bright colour in her cheeks.
“They don’t-they can’t!”
Algy saw the colour out of the tail of his eye, and avoided looking at it.
“Oh, they’re quite sure that I am Mr. Zero, and that I shot Sir Francis. The only thing they’re not sure about is whether they’ve got enough evidence to put before a jury. I don’t think they have myself, but if they do, they’ll be three to one, and I shall be for it.”
Gay’s hand kept slipping inside his arm, tugging at his sleeve.
“Don’t! Don’t say it! Algy, please don’t say it.”
He was aware of her looking over her shoulder as if she expected the immediate entry of the Inspector. He turned to her then with half a laugh.
“They’ll wait till the safe has been opened anyhow. Mr. Patterson, the Colesborough family solicitor, is coming down to be present. Stuffy old boy. Furious at being called out on a Sunday, and ready to have apoplexy at the idea of their proceeding without him. I could hear old Anstruther fairly booming at him on the telephone-and getting as good as he gave, I should say. I was the other side of the hall or I might have heard Patterson too. The study door was ajar and they were at it hammer and tongs. In the upshot, I gathered that Patterson would be here in time for tea-another jolly, companionable meal.”
Gay’s hand was warm against his arm, against his side. It shook a little as she said,
“What’s in the safe?”
“Something that’ll show them I’m not Mr. Zero, I hope, but you never can tell.”
“If there’s anything, it’ll be here,” said Gay. “Sylvia swears there weren’t any papers in the town safe, only the packet of letters she took. I told them that, and they asked her and she stuck to it. So if there’s anything to find, it’ll be here.”
“Monty will probably blow in some time,” said Algy. “He’s staying with the other Wessex-Gardner, the one they call Binks, only about five miles from here. Maud Lushington and Constance Wessex-Gardner are sisters.” He laughed a little. “He takes the wretched Brewster down and makes him work like a galley slave. The funny thing is that Brewster likes it. He told me once in a hushed voice that it was a privilege which he appreciated very highly, and he rather gave me up as a lost soul when I said he could keep it as far as I was concerned. Of course he’s the perfect secretary and I’m not. I’d much rather be doing something on my own.”
Gay’s hand pulled at his arm.
“Algy-will Mr. Lushington stand up for you?”
“He’s been a brick so far, but-well, he’s got to be careful. If I wasn’t his cousin, it would make it a lot easier for him to take my part.”
Gay pressed closer.
“It’s going to be all right. Algy, say it’s going to be all right!”
Algy looked out at the yew walk.
“It’s going to be as right as rain, my dear.”
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
“Because I think I’d better not, Gay.”
She said, “Why?” and only just managed to get the word to make any sound at all. The sound was so small that Algy did not feel obligated to take any notice of it. He made instead a movement to release himself, but in doing so he found Gay’s upturned face much, much nearer than he expected. It was on a level with his shoulder, the eyes very bright and intent, cheeks glowing and lips just parted on that trembling word. They looked at one another, and he said,
“My dear-I mustn’t-now-”