“Not a pink elephant, by any chance?” Henry asked. He was beginning to form a high estimate of Raymond Mason.
“How strange that you should say so. Yes, it appears that the animal had a distinctly rosy aura, which of course signifies an earthly rather than a spiritual astral state, but that is only to be expected from an elephant. But perhaps I am boring you?”
“Far from it,” Henry assured her. “Do please go on.”
“Well, as soon as I saw Mr. Mason come into the house I got up, made a somewhat sketchy toilette, collected the pamphlets, and came downstairs. I found Mr. Mason in here with Violet, and we had an interesting chat. However, I could tell that Violet was anxious to return to the subject of plants — Mr. Mason had brought her some specimens for her rock garden, you see. Now I realize that this is Violet’s house, and I always take particular care never to intrude upon her friends. So I bade Mr. Mason good-by and returned to my room.
“I suppose it must have been about a quarter of an hour later that I heard the car starting, and judged that I might come downstairs again without interrupting Violet and her caller. It was then that I found the pamphlets, which Mr. Mason had forgetfully left behind. I knew how disappointed he would be not to have them, so I hurried out into the drive after him. I believe Violet was in the hall, telephoning.
“As you must know, the car had only moved a few yards. It was standing in the drive with its hood open, and Mr. Mason was peering at the motor. I called to him — I can’t remember the exact words I used — and waved the pamphlets to attract his attention. I hurried down the front steps and toward the car. Mr. Mason looked up, saw me, ran out from behind the car, and began waving his arms quite wildly.”
“Did he say anything?” Henry asked.
“I fear I cannot tell you. My wretched hearing aid had somehow become maladjusted, and all I could hear was a whistling sound. I am sure of one thing, however. Mr. Mason had seen something which alarmed him very much. The next thing I knew was that he had fallen to the ground beside the car.”
“You heard the shot?”
“I have already told you, Mr. Tibbett, that I heard nothing except that curious whistling sound, which — ah — listen!” Miss Manciple had been fiddling with the black box hanging on her chest. Now it began to emit an ear-splitting noise such as might be made by drawing a squeaky chalk over a blackboard. “That’s the noise!” she yelled, drowning the cacophony. “Do you hear it?”
“Yes, thank you,” shouted Henry.
“Oh, don’t you? I’ll try to get it louder.” She did.
“I can hear it!” Henry bellowed.
“This is the volume control, I think…”
Desperately Henry shouted at the top of his lungs, “Stop it please, Miss Manciple!”
Simultaneously two things happened. Aunt Dora switched off the hearing aid, restoring a blessed and decorous silence, and the door opened to reveal a white-faced Violet Manciple.
“Oh — Mr. Tibbett — is everything all right? I thought I heard somebody shouting…”
“Yes, Mrs. Manciple, you did,” said Henry.
“Oh dear, Aunt Dora hasn’t been overexcited, has she? We have to be so careful, with her heart…”
“I was demonstrating my hearing aid to Mr. Tibbett, Violet,” said Aunt Dora. “However, he failed to hear it.” She sounded a little smug.
“Well,” Violet Manciple looked uncertainly from Henry to Dora. “If you’re sure you’re all right, and not too tired…”
“Pray don’t worry about me, Violet,” replied Miss Manciple, and added, with penetrating truth, “I think it is Mr. Tibbett who is a little fatigued.”
“Well, then — I’ll get back to the lunch,” said Violet, and disappeared.
Henry and Aunt Dora looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then Aunt Dora said, “Of course, there’s always Maud’s young man.”
“What about him?”
“I find him very hard to remember. The face is unfamiliar. Manning-Richards, canning pilchards. Not very good, I’m afraid, but it serves. You have met Maud’s young man?”
“Once,” said Henry, “for a moment.”
“I knew a Humphrey Manning-Richards at one time,” said Miss Manciple. She said it slowly, in a wondering voice, as if she had just made a discovery of some importance. Henry, looking up, was surprised to see a tear creeping from the corner of one bright brown eye. Aunt Dora was evidently equally surprised. She flicked the tear angrily away, and added, gruffly, “You had better speak to Edwin about all that.” And then she went on, “I am a little tired, Mr. Tibbett. Violet is quite right. My heart is not as sound as it was. Perhaps…?”
“Certainly, Miss Manciple.” Henry was on his feet in a moment.
“If you’d just help me up — drat this rug — oh, excuse me, Mr. Tibbett; we were used to plain speaking in the jungle, I’m afraid. No, no, that’s quite all right, I can manage — if you’d just open the door for me. Thank you so much…”
As he held the door open Henry said, “Miss Manciple, about Mr. Manning-Richards…”
“It has been a pleasure, Mr. Tibbett,” said Miss Manciple very firmly. And with that, she touched the switch on her hearing aid and passed from the room enveloped in a cone of high treble sound.
It was a minute or so later that Violet Manciple came back into the drawing room. Henry explained that Miss Manciple had felt a little tired and had gone to her room.
“I heard her,” said Violet, giving Henry a curious look. “Oh, by the way, Mr. Tibbett, Julian is most anxious to speak to you when he gets back from church.”
“Certainly, I’ll be delighted to see him this afternoon. And the Bishop, if I may.”
“Edwin? I can’t think that Edwin will be able to help you, Mr. Tibbett.”
“You never know,” said Henry.
“Very seldom, I’m afraid,” Violet Manciple agreed seriously. And she added, “You’ll stay to lunch, won’t you?”
“It’s very kind of you, Mrs. Manciple, but I think not. They’re expecting me at The Viking, and I want to call in at the police station. I’ll be back about half-past two, if that suits you.”
***
Half-past two. The Bishop arrived in the study in great form. He was carrying his clarinet, but otherwise looked remarkably episcopal in the dark suit which he had worn to church in the morning. He seemed surprised when Henry mentioned Julian Manning-Richards.
“Julian? Julian? What about Julian? Charming boy. Son of old friends of ours from Bugolaland. Grandson of Aunt Dora’s beau. What makes you so interested in Julian?”
“I believe he was on bad terms with Raymond Mason.”
The Bishop snorted slightly. “The man was mentally defective,” he said. “The more mature of us were able to view the man’s aberrations with Christian charity, but when a high-spirited young man like Julian hears that his fiancée is being pestered by a man who imagines himself to be a poached egg — and twice her age at that…”
With some difficulty Henry guided the conversation back to the Manning-Richards family. Soon, Edwin had settled down comfortably into a mood of reminiscence.
“Humphrey Manning-Richards,” he said, “was a district commissioner in Bugolaland when I first went out there as a young man. Mind if I smoke?” Henry nodded his assent, and the Bishop brought out a tattered oilskin tobacco pouch and began to fill his pipe with leisurely enjoyment. “Yes, he was quite a chap. Big-game hunter, handsome, cricket blue — Oxford, of course — quite fearless, and delightfully modest with it — the best type of English man. A lot older than I, of course. He was married to a charming woman, and they had a son.”