Violet looked surprised. “Well, you’ve met her, Mr. Tibbett. She gets about wonderfully, considering her age and her weak heart. Dr. Thompson has warned her not to…”
“What I mean is,” said Henry, “that she must have nipped upstairs and then down again very fast to get back to the drawing room and find the pamphlets before Mr. Mason had gotten further than…”
Mrs. Manciple looked embarrassed, “Oh, well — there was a short interval, a few minutes…”
“What do you mean, Mrs. Manciple?”
Reluctantly, touching on a subject which was not usually mentioned, Mrs. Manciple said, “Mr. Mason asked me if he might — em — wash his hands before he left…”
Henry grinned, “I see,” he said, “So Mason went into the downstairs cloakroom. Was he there long?”
“Really, Mr. Tibbett, I didn’t stand outside with a stop watch. What extraordinary questions you do ask. As a matter of fact, it did strike me that perhaps he took a little longer than — than usual. Anyhow, when he came out I saw him to the front door, and I had gone back into the hall to telephone to Rigley’s, the grocers, when Aunt Dora came down, as I told you. And then, just as Mr. Rigley had answered the phone, I heard the shot.”
“And ran straight out to the drive?”
“Not immediately, I’m afraid. The shot didn’t alarm me — one gets used to the sound of gunfire in this house, Mr. Tibbett. No, it was Aunt Dora crying out which caught my attention. I rang off at once, and just then Edwin came downstairs — he’d been resting in his room, as I told you — and he said, ‘Aunt Dora’s raising Cain in the drive. What’s up?’ ‘I don’t know,’ I said; and we both went out together.”
“And what did you find?”
“Oh, it was dreadful. Poor Mr. Mason was lying on the ground in front of his car. The bonnet was still open — he’d been looking inside, it seems, to find out what made it stop. Aunt Dora was quite bewildered, poor old thing. She kept saying that he’d waved his arms and shouted. I really don’t think she knew what had happened. George came up through the shrubbery almost at once, and then, of course, he took charge. Maud and Julian soon came running up, and so did Claud and Ramona. So I left them to cope with poor Mr. Mason and took Aunt Dora indoors. Ramona wanted me to give her one of those sleeping pills that she takes, to soothe her, but I told her that Dr. Thompson had most emphatically forbidden Aunt Dora to take anything of the sort because of her heart. So I made her a nice cup of tea instead. That’s really all.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Manciple. You’ve been very helpful.”
“Have I?” Violet Manciple sounded surprised and almost dismayed, as if it had not been her intention to be helpful.
“Perhaps I could have a word with your aunt now, before lunch?”
“Yes, of course. I told Maud to get her settled in the drawing room for you. She’ll be delighted to see you. Just keep her off psychic research, if you can, and you’ll find her astonishingly lucid. Quite remarkable for her age.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
AUNT DORA MANCIPLE had been carefully installed by Maud in the drawing room, a rug tucked around her plump knees and her hearing aid adjusted — despite her protests — so that it did not whistle. It was obvious that she took a very poor view of the whole proceeding.
“So there you are, young man,” she began, before Henry had time to close the door behind him. “Why do we have to talk in here, eh? Why not in the study, where it’s warm?”
“If you’d prefer the study, Miss Manciple,” said Henry pacifically, “I’m sure that…”
“Violet said it had to be in here, and of course this is Violet’s house now. Not that I have anything against Violet. She’s a good girl, and she’s made George a good wife, which is more than could be said of some people. All the same, it’s not like the old days.”
“You must have lived a great many years in this house, Miss Manciple,” said Henry, feeling that Aunt Dora’s ruffled feathers would have to be smoothed before any real sense could be extracted from her.
“I came to live here fifty-two years ago this month,” replied the old lady promptly. “Augustus sent for me as soon as Rose died. Rose was his wife, of course. I don’t suppose you knew her.”
“No, I didn’t,” Henry admitted.
Aunt Dora’s lips clamped together into a thin line. Her normally good-natured face became quite fierce. “A little hussy,” she said, “a spoiled, greedy, grasping little madam — and I’m not ashamed to say it, even if the is dead. She ruined my brother, ruined him.”
“Financially, do you mean?”
“In every way. Look at all that jewelry she made him buy her, with money that should have been used to provide for his family.”
“Yes, but,” Henry hesitated. “She couldn’t take it with her, could she, Miss Manciple? I understand that it was after her death that your brother was obliged to sell…”
“That’s what we’re told now.” Aunt Dora bridled, shook herself, and settled down into her chair like an angry hen. “Augustus was infatuated with her, of course. That was the trouble. Arthur Pringle could have told you a very different story, if he’d lived. You mark my words.”
Henry did not attempt to unravel this remark. Instead, he said, “Well, that’s all a long time ago now, isn’t it, Miss Manciple? I’m really more interested in recent events.”
“Poor Mr. Mason, you mean. I wondered when you were going to get around to him,” said Miss Manciple with a note of reproach in her voice. “Well, what can I tell you?”
“If you’d just give me your account of what happened on Friday…”
“Certainly. I had my rest after luncheon and I think I must have dropped off, which is very unusual for me. I don’t approve of sleeping in the daytime. It lowers the resistance. At all events, it must have been about half-past five when I heard the sound of the car outside.”
“Were you wearing your hearing aid, Miss Manciple?”
“No, no, of course not. Cumbersome thing.”
“Then how did you hear the car?”
Aunt Dora looked pityingly at Henry. “Not being hard of hearing yourself,” she said, “you wouldn’t understand. Certain sounds, like engines, come through perfectly clearly. The doctor says it is a question of vibrations. I am speaking now of earthly vibrations, you understand, rather than psychic vibrations,”
“Yes, yes,” said Henry. “So you heard the car…”
“Quite correct. I got up and looked out of my window in time to see Mr. Mason going into the house with Violet. Now, Mr. — I fear I didn’t catch your name…”
“Tibbett, Miss Manciple.”
“Tibbett, Tibbett, hang him from a gibbet,” said Aunt Dora.
Henry started in spite of himself. “I beg your pardon?”
“A mnemonic,” explained Aunt Dora, “a device of my brother’s. He insisted that a successful man — or woman, for that matter — should never forget a name, and he evolved this trick of rhyming couplets. I can assure you, Mr. Tibbett, that I shall never forget your name again. Unfortunately, I have a very poor memory for faces, so it is quite likely that I may not recognize you in the future. But your name is now indelibly inscribed in my mind. What was I saying?”
“You saw Mr. Mason going into the house,” said Henry.
“Ah, yes. As I was saying — you, Mr. Tibbett, are not interested in psychic vibrations. I know this. Your aura changed color in a distinctly hostile manner when I mentioned the subject just now.”
“Did it?” said Henry. “I’m sorry.”
“You cannot help it,” replied Miss Manciple graciously. “You are powerless to control your vibrations and emanations — at least, without a long course of meditation. Mr. Mason, on the other hand, was most interested in the science of the supernatural. His aura was blue, I need hardly tell you. I had promised to lend him some pamphlets on Astral Manifestations of the Lower Forms of Life — dogs, cats, and so on. He was telling me that a friend of his had once seen the astral form of an elephant. It had happened in London, curiously enough; in Bugolaland, it would not have been surprising. It was in the early hours of the morning, when Mr. Mason’s friend was returning from a celebration of some sort.”