Good-night,
R.
iv
Alleyn laid down his pen and stretched his cramped fingers.
He was, he supposed, the only waking being in the inn, and the silence of a country dwelling at night flowed in upon his mind. The wind had dropped again, and he realised that for some time there had been no sound of rain. The fire had fallen into a glow. The timbers of the inn cracked abruptly and startled him. He was suddenly weary. His body was a stranger to his mind and he looked at it in wonder. He stood as if in a trance, alarmed at meeting himself as a stranger, yet aware of this experience which was not new to him. As always, some part of his mind tried to step across the threshold of the unknown, but was unable to give purpose to his whole thought. He returned to himself and, rousing, lit his candle, turned out the lamp, and climbed the stairs to his room.
His window looked up the Vale. High above him he could see a light. “They are late at bed at Pen Cuckoo,” he thought, and opened the window. The sound of water dripping from the eaves came into the room and the smell of wet grass and earth. “Perhaps it will be fine to-morrow,” he thought, and went happily to bed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Frightened Lady
i
“— Let me remind you, gentlemen,” said the coroner, looking severely at Mr. Prosser, “that you are not concerned with theories. It is your duty to decide how this unfortunate lady met with her death. If you find you are able to do so, you must then make up your minds whether you are to return a verdict of accident, suicide or murder. If you are unable to arrive at this second decision, you must say so. Now, there is no difficulty in describing the manner of death. On Friday afternoon a small boy, after the manner of small boys, set an ingenious booby-trap. At some time before Saturday night, someone interfered with this comparatively harmless piece of mechanism. A Colt automatic was substituted for a water-pistol. You have heard that this automatic, the property of Mr. Jocelyn Jernigham, was in a room which is accessible from outside all day and every day. You have heard that it was common knowledge that the weapon was kept loaded in this room. You realise, I am sure, that on Saturday it would have been possible for anybody to enter the room through the french window and take the automatic. You have listened to a lucid description of the mechanism of this death-trap. You have examined the Colt automatic. You have been told that at 6.30 Miss Gladys Wright used the left-hand pedal of the piano, and that nothing untoward occurred. You have heard her say that from 6.30 until the moment of the catastrophe the front of the hall was occupied by herself, her fellow-helpers and, as they arrived, the audience. You have been shown photographs of the piano as it was at 6.30. The open top was covered in bunting which was secured to the sides by drawing-pins. On top of the piano and standing on the bunting, which stretched over the turned-back lid, were six pot plants. You realise that up to within fifteen minutes of the tragedy, every member of the company of performers, and every person in the audience, believed that it was Miss Prentice who was to play the overture. You may therefore have formed the opinion that Miss Prentice, and not Miss Campanula, was the intended victim. This need not affect your decision and, as a coroner’s jury, does not actually concern you. If you agree that at eight o’clock Miss Campanula pressed the left-hand or soft pedal and was killed by a charge from the automatic and that somebody had put the automatic in the piano with felonious intent, in short with intent to murder, and if you consider there is no evidence to show who this person was — why, then, gentlemen, you may return a verdict to this effect.”
“O upright beak!” said Alleyn as Mr. Prosser and the jury retired. “O admirable and economic coroner! Slap, bang, and away they go. Slap, bang, and here they are again.”
They had indeed only gone into a huddle in the doorway, and returned looking rather as if they had all washed their faces in rectitude.
“Yes, Mr. Prosser?”
“We are all agreed, sir.”
“Yes?”
“We return a verdict of murder,” said Mr. Prosser, looking as if he feared he hadn’t got it quite as it ought to be, “against person or persons unknown.”
“Thank you. The only possible conclusion, gentlemen.”
“I should like to add,” said the smallest juryman, suddenly, “that I think them water-pistols ought to be put down by law.”
ii
Immediately after the inquest, Fox and Ford left for Duck Cottage. Alleyn’s hand was on the door of Nigel’s car, when he heard his name called. He turned and found himself face to face with Mrs. Ross.
“Mr. Alleyn — I’m so sorry to bother you, but may I come and see you? I’ve remembered something that I think you ought to know.”
“Certainly,” said Alleyn. “Now, if it suits you.”
“You’re staying at the Jernigham Arms, aren’t you? May I come there in ten minutes?”
“Yes, of course. I shall drive straight there.”
“Thank you so much.”
Alleyn replaced his hat and climbed into the car.
“Now, what the devil?” he wondered. “It’s fallen out rather well, as it happens. Fox will have a longer session with the pretty housemaid.”
Nigel came out and drove him to the inn. Alleyn asked Mrs. Peach if he could use the back parlour as an office for an hour. Mrs. Peach was volubly agreeable.
Nigel was told to take himself off.
“Why should I? Who are you going to see?”
“Mrs. Ross”
“Why can’t I be there?”
“Because I think she’ll speak more freely if she sees me alone.”
“Well, let me sit in the next room with the slide a crack open.”
Alleyn looked thoughtfully at him.
“Very well,” he said, “you may do that. Take notes. It can’t be used in evidence, but it may be handy. Wait a second. You’ve got your camera?”
“Yes.”
“See if you can get a shot of her as she comes in. Careful about it. Get there quickly. She’ll arrive in a second.”
Nigel was only just in time. In five minutes the pot-boy announced Mrs. Ross, who came in looking much more like the Ritz than the Jernigham Arms.
“It is nice of you to see me,” she said. “Ever since I remembered it, I’ve been so worried about this thing. I felt very bold, accosting you outside the hall of justice or whatever it was. You must be rushed off your feet.”
“It’s my job to listen,” said Alleyn.
“May I sit down?”
“Please. I think this is the most comfortable chair.”
She sat down with a pretty air of intimacy. She drew off her gloves, rummaged in her bag for her cigarettes, and then accepted one of his. Alleyn remained standing.
“You know,” said Mrs. Ross, ‘“you’re not a bit my idea of a detective.”
“No?”
“Not a bit. That enormous man who drives about with you looks much more the thing done at the Yard.”
“Perhaps you would rather see Inspector Fox?”
“No, I’d much rather see you. Don’t snub me.”
“I’m sorry if I seemed to do that. What is it you would like to tell me?”
She leant forward. Her manner lost its flippancy and took on an air of practical concern, but it also managed to suggest that she knew he would understand and sympathize with her motive in coming to him.
“You’ll think I was such a fool not to remember it before,” she said; “but the whole thing’s been rather a shock. I suppose I simply had a blank moment or something. Not that I had any affection for the poor old thing; but, for all that, it was rather a shock.”