When he had left the house, Vicky went upstairs, and presently wandered into Mary's bedroom. "Are you feeling jaded, darling Mary?"
"Extremely jaded."
"Poor sweet! All the same, I do truly think you make yourself worse through not looking on the bright side. Quite honestly, do you mind Wally's being dead?"
"Of course I," Mary stopped short, under the clear gaze bent upon her. "'That is, I suppose I don't. Yes, I do, a bit, though. Anyway, I can't bear the thought of his having been murdered."
"No, I'm not frightfully partial to it myself," agreed Vicky. "That's why I don't dwell on it."
"Yes, you do. You keep on wondering who could have killed him, and it seems to me dreadful!"
"Well, so do you," said Vicky. "Which reminds me that something rather disgruntling happened after that mouldy Inquest. Janet went and queered Robert's pitch, by divulging that he knew all along Wally was going to tea at the Dower House, so I'm rather afraid the Inspector may try to pin the murder on to him."
"No!" Mary exclaimed, startled. "Robert did know?"
"So Janet said. Of course, I always did think he might have done it, only if so I'd rather he got away with it, on account of Ermyntrude. That was why I tried to put the Inspector on to Alexis."
"But you can't! You mustn't! If Robert - but I won't believe it! If he did, it would be absolutely wicked to try to make the police suspect the Prince instead!"
"Oh no, really it wouldn't! Because Robert's much nicer than Alexis, who was after poor Ermyntrude's money, and I dare say has a perfectly revolting past, which Robert hasn't in the least. And if Robert did murder Wally, he probably thought it was the right thing to do. Why was Maurice so peevish?"
"He wasn't. Naturally, he must be rather worried about all this, for Aunt Ermy's sake."
Vicky opened her eyes at that. "But she isn't ill, is she?"
"No, but I've always fancied that he wass very fond of her," Mary said.
"Darling, you don't suppose he's in love with her, do you?"
"No, no, of course I don't! Only he did say that she'd been very good to him once, or something."
"Oh, that must have been on account of his sister! He used to have one, only she died, and I believe Ermyntrude did rather succour her; only it all happened in the Dark Ages, when I was small, so I don't really know. I wouldn't wonder if Maurice thinks Robert did it.
"Why? Surely he hasn't said anything to you about it?"
"No, but Robert's a friend of his, and you must admit that he's taking it all frightfully seriously, so that it looks rather as though he feared the worst."
"He can't think that! In any case, I didn't find him any different from his usual self. He certainly wasn't with me."
"Oh well! then it was probably Hugh who made him so glum. I've noticed that he doesn't seem to like Hugh much."
Mary stared at her. "But what could he possibly find to dislike in Hugh?"
"Old school-tie. Alan does. Besides, there's plenty to dislike in him. Mothballs, and being dictatorial, and - oh, lots of things!"
"Hallo!" said Mary, suddenly making a discovery. "Have you fallen for Hugh?"
"No, I think he's noisome, and I do not fall for other people's boy-friends!"
"If that means me, don't worry! I told you he wasn't, when you asked me."
"But isn't he?" asked Vicky anxiously.
"Definitely not. If you want the truth, I did rather wonder if he was going to be, at one time, because I like him tremendously. Only, since all this happened - I can't explain, but I know he isn't. We don't think on the same lines. You probably think I'm very dull and serious minded, and I dare say I am, for I can't see any humour in the present situation, and, frankly, it annoys me when I hear Hugh being thoroughly flippant about it."
"Well, it means nothing to me," said Vicky. "He's fusty, and dusty, and he doesn't think I'm a great actress. In fact, I practically abominate him, and I shouldn't in the least mind if the Inspector suddenly started to suspect him of being the murderer."
Fortunately for Mr. Hugh Dering, the Inspector had not yet started to suspect him of anything worse than a pronounced partiality for his chief tormentor. The Inspector's suspicions were still equally divided between the only five people who appeared to have any motive for having killed Wally Carter. Of these, young Baker, whom he interviewed at Burntside after leaving Palings, seemed to be the least likely, and Robert Steel the most probable suspect.
The Inspector, returning to Fritton a little while after five o'clock, said that he knew Baker's type well, and that his knowledge of psychology informed him that loudvoiced young men who stood upon soap-boxes and inveighed against the existing rules of society were not potential murderers. Sergeant Wake, who had a prosaic mind, said: "To my way of thinking, the fact of its having been Carter's own rifle pretty well rules him out. It doesn't seem to me that he could have got hold of it, let alone have carried it off on his motor-bike, which is what you'd think he must have done, if he stole it on the Saturday evening."
But a day spent by the Sergeant and his underlings in searching for circumstances or witnesses either to disprove or to corroborate the stories told by Prince Varasashvili and Robert Steel, had been unsuccessful enough to cast him into a mood of pessimism. "The case looked straightforward enough when we started on it, but the conclusion I've come to is that the man who did this murder laid his plans a sight more carefully than we gave him credit for."
"Yes," said the Inspector cheerfully, "he certainly knew his onions. It's a pleasure to deal with him. You keep right on pursuing investigations into Steel and the Prince. You'll maybe get something sooner or later." He looked at Superintendent Small, who had joined the conference. "Am I right in thinking Mr. Silent Steel's wellliked in these parts?"
"I never heard anyone speak ill of him," replied Small. "He's not one to throw his weight about, mind you, and he doesn't belong to the real gentry, but they all seem to like him well enough."
"That's what I thought. Everyone likes him, and everyone knows he's been hanging round the fair Ermyntrude these two years, and nobody means to give him away if he can help it."
"Why, what makes you say that?"
"Arithmetic," replied the Inspector. "Habit of putting two and two together. I've been like it from a child."
"That's right," said Wake slowly. "You can get any of the folk here to talk about the Prince; and the way Percy Baker's talked of in this town you'd think people would like to see him convicted, and his sister, too. Not at all popular, they aren't. But the instant you start making inquiries into Steel you're up against a lot of deaf mutes. No one knowss anything about his movements, and no one's ever had any idea of his being in love with Mrs. Carter."
"Well, he may be the whitest man they know in these parts, but he's too cool a customer for my taste," said Hemingway. "Nothing rattles him, not even having his story of not knowing Carter was going to the Whites blown up by Miss White. He has a nice quiet think, too, before he answers a question. Of course, his mother may have told him always to think before he spoke, but it isn't a habit which makes me take to him much. Is he a friend of the doctor?"
"Chester?" said Small. "Yes, I'd say they were pretty friendly. Why?"
"Oh, nothing!" said Hemingway airily. "Only that I had a bit of a chat with the doctor up at Palings this morning, and it struck me that he wasn't what you might call bursting with information. The way I look at it is, if anyone knows the ins and outs of that household, it's the doctor, for if you were to tell me the fair Ermyntrude doesn't treat him like a confession-box I wouldn't believe you."
"Well, I don't know," said Small. "You wouldn't hardly expect him to give away anything she may have said to him, would you?"
"No, nor I wouldn't expect him to be so much on his guard that he leaves the house sooner than let me ask him a few questions," retorted Hemingway.