“I’ve looked up the case. She was in the game all right, but they hadn’t a thing on her. She seems to have talked her way out.”
“She would. Thank you, Bailey. I wish I’d known this a little earlier. Oh, well, no matter, it fits in very prettily.”
“Anything else, Mr. Alleyn?”
“I’m going to my flat for half an hour. If Fox rings up before I’m back tell him I’m there. The car ought to leave now. I’ll fix that up. We’d better take a wardress, I suppose. All right, Bailey. Thank you.”
iv
Henry wondered what the devil Mrs. Ross had to say to his father. He had watched, with extreme distaste, their growing intimacy. “How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is,” he thought, “to have a prancing parent.” When Jocelyn spoke to Mrs. Ross his habit of loud inexplicable laughter, his manner of leaning backwards, of making a series of mysterious little bows, the curious gesture he employed, the inclination his eyes exhibited towards protuberance, and the naked imbecility of his conversation, all vexed and embarrassed his son to an almost insupportable degree. If Jocelyn should marry her! Henry had no particular objection to Mrs. Ross, but the thought of her as a stepmother struck dismay to his heart. His affection for. his father was not weakened by Jocelyn’s absurdities. He loved him deeply, he realised, and now the thought that his father might be making a fool of himself in there with that woman was more than he could endure. Miss Prentice had, no doubt, gone to her room; Dinah was out; there was nothing to do.
He wandered restlessly into the library, half-hoping that the door into the study would be open. It was closed. He could hear the murmur of a woman’s voice. On and on. What the hell could she have to say? Then a baritone interjection in which he read urgency and vehemence. Then a long pause.
“My God!” thought Henry. “If he has proposed to her!”
He whistled raucously, took an encyclopaedia from the shelves, banged the glass door and slammed the book down on the table.
He heard his father exclaim. A chair castor squeaked and the voices grew more distant. They had moved to the far end of the room.
Henry flung himself into an arm-chair, and once again the conundrum of the murder beset him. Who did the police believe had tried to murder Eleanor Prentice? Which would they say had the greatest reason for wishing Eleanor dead? With the thud of fear that came upon him whenever he thought of this, he supposed that he himself had most reason for wishing Eleanor out of the way. Was it possible that Alleyn suspected him? Whom did Alleyn suspect? Not Dinah, surely, not the rector, not his own father. Templett, then? Or — yes — Mrs. Ross? But, Alleyn would surely reason, if Templett was the murderer, it was a successful murder, since it was Templett who insisted that Eleanor shouldn’t play the piano. Alleyn would wonder if Templett had told Mrs. Ross he would not allow Eleanor to play. Did Dinah’s tirade against Mrs. Ross mean that Dinah suspected her? Had the police any idea who could have gone to the piano after there were people in the hall, and yet not been seen? Already the story of Gladys Wright had reached Pen Cuckoo. And as final conjecture, perhaps they would ask themselves if Eleanor Prentice in some way had faked her finger and set the trap for her bosom enemy. Or might they agree with the rector and call it a case of attempted murder and suicide?
He leapt to his feet. There was no longer a sound of voices in the study. They must have gone out by the french window.
Henry opened the door and walked in. No. they were still there. Mrs. Ross sat in the window with her back to the light. Jocelyn Jernigham faced the door. When Henry saw Jocelyn he cried out: “Father, what’s the matter?”
Jocelyn said, “Nothing’s the matter.”
Mrs. Ross said, “Hullo! Good-afternoon.”
“Good-afternoon,” said Henry. “Father, are you ill?”
“No. Don’t come bursting into the room asking people if they’re ill. It’s ridiculous.”
“But your face! It’s absolutely ashen.”
“I’ve got indigestion.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“I thought he looked pale,” said Mrs. Ross solicitously.
“He’s absolutely green.”
“I’m nothing of the sort,” said Jocelyn angrily.
v
“Mrs. Ross and I are talking privately, Henry.”
“I’m sorry,” said Henry stubbornly, “but I know there’s something wrong here. What is it?”
“There’s nothing wrong, my dear boy,” she said lightly.
He stared at her.
“I’m afraid I still think there is.”
“Well, I very much hope you won’t still think there is when we tell you all about it. At the moment I’m afraid it’s a secret.” She looked at Jocelyn. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes. Of course. Go away, boy, you’re making a fool of yourself.”
“Are you sure,” Henry asked slowly, “that nobody is making a fool of you?”
Taylor came in. He looked slightly disgruntled.
“Inspector Fox to see you, sir. I told him — ”
“Good-afternoon, sir,” said a rumbling voice, and the bulk of Inspector Fox filled the doorway. v
Henry saw the squire look quickly from the open window to Mrs. Ross. Taylor stood aside and Fox walked in.
“I hope you’ll excuse me coming straight in like this, sir,” said Fox. “Chief Inspector Alleyn asked me to call. I took the liberty of following your butler. Perhaps I ought to have waited.”
“No, no,” said Jocelyn. “Sit down, er — ”
“Fox, sir. Thank you very much, sir.”
Fox placed his bowler on a near-by table. He turned to Henry.
“Good-afternoon, sir. We met last night, didn’t we?”
“This is Inspector Fox, Mrs. Ross,” said Henry.
“Good-afternoon, madam,” said Fox tranquilly. Then he sat down. As Alleyn once remarked to Nigel, there was a certain dignity about Fox.
Mrs. Ross smiled charmingly.
“I must take myself off,” she said, “and not interrupt Mr. Fox. Don’t move, anybody, please.”
“If it’s not troubling you too much, Mrs. Ross,” said Fox, “I’d be obliged if you’d wait for a moment. There are one or two little routine questions for general inquiry, and it will save me taking up your time later on.”
“But I’m longing to stay, Mr. Fox.”
“Thank you, madam.”
Fox took out his spectacles and placed them on his nose. He then drew his note-book from an inside pocket, opened it and stared at it.
“Yes,” he said. “Now, the first item’s a small matter, really. Did anybody present find the onion in the teapot?”
“What!” Henry ejaculated.
Fox fixed his eyes on him.
“The onion in the teapot, sir.”
“Which onion in what teapot?” demanded Jocelyn.
Fox turned to him.
“Young Biggins, sir, has admitted that he put a Spanish onion in the teapot used on the stage. We’d like to know who removed it.”
Mrs. Ross burst out laughing.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, “but it is rather funny.”
“It sounds rather a ridiculous sort of thing, doesn’t it, madam?” agreed Fox gravely. “Do you know anything about it?”
“I’m afraid not. I think Mr. Alleyn has already accused me of an onion.”
“Did you happen to hear anything of it, sir?”
“Good Lord, no,” said Jocelyn.
“And you, Mr. Henry?”
“Not I,” said Henry.
“The next matter,” said Fox, making a note, “is the window. I understand you found it open on Saturday afternoon, Mrs. Ross.”
“Yes. We shut it.”
“Yes. You’d already shut it once, hadn’t you? At midday?”