“Yes,” agreed Alleyn.
“Sort of inverse ratio or something, what?” added the squire dimly.
“That’s it, sir. Now, the first thing we’ve got to tackle is the ownership of the Colt. I don’t know — ”
“Wait a bit,” said Jocelyn. He stood up, drove his hands into his breeches pockets and walked over to the french windows.
“It’s mine,” he said.
Alleyn did not answer. The squire turned and looked at him. Seeing nothing but polite attention in Alleyn’s face, he made a slight inarticulate noise, strode to the table under the window and opened the box.
“See for yourself,” he said. “It’s been in that box for the last twenty years. It was there last week. Now it’s gone.”
Alleyn joined him.
“Hellish unpleasant,” said Jocelyn, “isn’t it? I only found out this morning. My son was thinking about the business, it seems, and suddenly remembered that the Colt is always lying there, loaded. He came downstairs and looked, and then he came to my room and told me. I’m wondering if I ought not to resign my position as C.C.”
“I shouldn’t do that, sir,” said Alleyn. “With any luck, we ought to be able to clear up the disappearance of the automatic.”
“I feel pretty shaken up about it, I don’t mind telling you.”
“Of course you do. As a matter of fact, I’ve brought the Colt up here to show you. May I just fetch it? I can slip out to the car this way.”
He went straight through the french windows and returned with his case, from which he took the automatic wrapped in a silk handkerchief.
“There’s really no need for all these precautions,” said Alleyn as he unwrapped it. “We’ve been all over it for prints and found none. My fingerprint man travels with half a laboratory in his kit. This thing’s been dusted, peered at and photographed. It was evidently very thoroughly cleaned after it was put in position.”
He laid the automatic in the box. It exactly fitted the indentation in the green baize lining.
“Seems a true bill,” said Alleyn.
“How many rounds gone?” asked Jocelyn.
“Three,” answered Alleyn.
“I fired the first two in 1917,” said Jocelyn; “but I swear before God I’d nothing to do with the third.”
“I hope you’ll at least have the satisfaction of knowing who had,” said Alleyn. “Did you write this notice, ‘Loaded,’ sir?”
“Yes,” said Jocelyn. “What of it?”
Alleyn paused for a fraction of a second before he said, “Only routine, sir. I was going to ask if it always lay on top of the Colt.”
“Certainly.”
“Do you mind, sir, if I take this box away with me? There may be prints; but I’m afraid your housemaids are too well trained.”
“I hope to God you find something. Do take it. I tell you, I’m nearly worried to death by the whole thing. It’s a damned outrage that this blasted murderer — ”
The door opened and Henry came into the room.
“This is my son,” said Jocelyn.
ii
From an upstairs window Henry had watched the arrival of Alleyn’s car. Ever since his visit to the study at dawn and his subsequent interview with the abruptly awakened Jocelyn, Henry had been unable to think coherently, to stay still, or to do anything definite. It struck him that he was in very much the same condition as he had been last night while waiting in the wings for the curtain to go up. He had telephoned to Dinah and arranged to see her at the rectory. He had prowled miserably about the house. At intervals he had tried to reassure his father, who had taken the news well, but was obviously very shaken. He had wondered what they would do with Eleanor when she chose to appear. She had gone straight to her room on her return from church, and was reported to be suffering from a headache.
When Jocelyn went downstairs to meet Alleyn, Henry’s condition became several degrees more uncomfortable. He imagined his father making a bad job of the automatic story, getting himself further and further involved, and finally losing his temper. The Yard man would probably be maddeningly professional and heavy handed. Henry pictured him seated on the edge of one of the study chairs, staring at his father with sharp, inhuman eyes set in a massive policeman’s face. “He will carry his bowler in with him and his boots will be intolerable,” thought Henry. “A mammoth of officialdom!”
At last his own idleness became insupportable, and he ran downstairs and made for the study.
He could hear his father’s voice raised, as it seemed, in protest. He opened the door and walked in.
“This is my son,” said Jocelyn.
Henry’s first thought was that this was some stranger, or perhaps a friend of Jocelyn’s arrived with hideous inconvenience to visit them. He saw an extremely tall man, thin, and wearing good clothes, with an air of vague distinction.
“This is Mr. Alleyn,” said Jocelyn, “from Scotland Yard.”
“Oh,” said Henry.
He shook hands, felt suddenly rather young, and sat down. His next impression was that he had seen Mr. Alleyn before. He found himself looking at Alleyn in terms of a pencil drawing. A drawing that might have been done by Dürer with a sharp, hard pencil and then washed delicately with blue-blacks and ochres. “A grandee turned monk,” thought Henry, “but retaining some amusing memories.” And he sought to find a reason for this impression which seemed more like a recollection. The accents of the brows, the winged corners to, the mouth and eyes, the sharp insistence of the skull — he had seen them all before.
“Henry!” said his father sharply.
Henry realised that Alleyn had been speaking.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid I didn’t — I’m very sorry.”
“I was only asking,” said Alleyn, “if you could help us with this business of the Colt. Your father says it was in its box last week. Can you get any nearer to it than that?”
“It was there on Friday afternoon at five,” said Henry.
“How d’you know?” demanded the squire.
“You’ll scarcely credit it,” said Henry slowly, “but I’ve only just remembered. It was before you came down. I was here with Cousin Eleanor waiting for the others to come in for Dinah’s run-through for words. They all arrived together, or within two or three minutes of each other. Somebody, Dr. Templett, I think, said something about the burglaries in Somerset last week. Posh Jimmy and his Boys, and all that. We wondered if they’d come this way. Miss Campanula talked about burglar alarms and what she’d do if she heard stealthy footsteps in the small hours. I told them about your war relic, Father, and we all looked at it. Mrs. Ross said she didn’t think it was safe to have a loaded firearm lying about. I showed her that the safety catch was on. Then we talked about something else. You came in and we started the rehearsal.”
“That’s a help,” said Alleyn. “It narrows the time down to twenty-seven hours. That was Friday evening. Now, did either of you go to the hall on Friday afternoon?”
“I was hunting,” said Jocelyn. “I didn’t get back till five, in time for this run-through.”
Alleyn looked at Henry.
“I went for a walk,” said Henry. “I left at about half-past two. I remember now. It was half-past two.”
“Did you go far?”
Henry looked straight before him.
“No. About half-way down to the church.”
“How long were you away?”
“About two hours.”
“You stopped somewhere, then?”
“Yes.”
“Did you speak to anybody?”
“I met Dinah Copeland.” Henry looked at his father. “Not by appointment. We talked. For some time. Then my cousin, Eleanor Prentice, came up. She had been to church. If it’s of any interest, I remember hearing the church clock strike three when she came up. After that Dinah went back to the rectory and I struck up a path to Cloudyfold. I came home by the hill path.”