I wondered if I detected a note of disapproval in his voice, but when I glanced at him, he was staring into space with those opaque eyes, expressionless as a blind man's.
I walked towards the rear of the room. Two sets of French doors opened on to the terrace. I could see the potted plants, trees, and outdoor furniture Stilton had mentioned. I tried the knob of one of the doors. It was locked.
'Mrs Kipper has ordered these doors to be kept locked, sah,' Chester said in sepulchral tones. 'Since the accident.'
'Could I take a quick look outside, please? Just for a moment?'
He hesitated, then said, 'As you wish, sah.'
He had a heavy ring of keys attached to a thin chain fastened to his belt. He selected a brass key with no fumbling about and unlocked the door. He followed me out on to the terrace. I wandered around, making quick notes: 4 otdr tbls, 8 mtl chrs, cktl tbl, 2 chse lngs, 2 endtbls, plnts, trees, etc.
I walked to the rear of the terrace. The cement wall had recently been repainted.
'This is where the accident happened?' I asked.
He nodded dumbly. I thought he had paled, but it may have been the hard outdoor sunlight on his face.
I leaned over cautiously and looked down. I didn't care what Perce had said, it seemed to me I was a long way up, and no one could survive a fall from that height.
Directly below was the ground floor patio, with more outdoor furniture, and in the rear a small garden now browned and desolate. The patio was paved with tiles, as described. I could see where Sol Kipper had landed, because bright new tiles had replaced those broken when he hit.
I think that was the first time I really comprehended what I was doing. I was not merely trying to solve an abstract puzzle; I was trying to determine how a human being had met his death. That withered garden, those smashed tiles, the drop through empty space — now it all seemed real to me: the dark figure pinwheeling down, arms and legs outspread, wind whipping his clothing, ground rushing up, sickening i m p a c t. .
'Did he cry out?' I asked in a low voice.
'No, sah,' Chester said in a voice as quiet as mine. 'We heard nothing until the poor man hit.'
I shivered.
'Cold out here,' I said. 'Let's go in.'
Apparently Chester didn't enjoy using stairs, up or down, for we rode the elevator to the fifth floor.
'On this floor,' Chester said, 'we have the master bedroom, with two bathrooms, and Mrs Kipper's dressing room. Also, the maid has her apartment on this floor, the better to be able to assist Mrs Kipper. In addition, Mr Kipper had a small private office on this floor. As you can see, sah, the main staircase stops here.'
We went through all the rooms, or at least looked in at them, with me busily taking notes. I was particularly interested in the master bedroom, an enormous chamber with furniture in cream-coloured French provincial decorated with painted vines and flowers. Two bathrooms were connected to the bedroom, and another door led to Mrs Kipper's dressing room.
This was a squarish area with a full-length, three-way mirror; a chaise longue covered in pink satin; a littered dresser, the mirror surrounded by electric bulbs; an antique phone on an ormolu-mounted table; and a brass serving cart with a small selection of bottles, glasses, and bar accessories. Two walls of the room were louvred folding doors.
'Mrs Kipper's wardrobe, sah,' Chester said. 'Do you wish to see?'
'Oh no,' I said hastily. 'That won't be necessary.'
'A hundred pairs of shoes,' he remarked drily.
There were two unused rooms on the fifth floor. One, Chester explained, had originally been the nursery, and the other had been the children's playroom.
'Before your time, I imagine,' I said.
'Yes, sah,' Chester said gravely. 'My father was in service with the Kipper family at that time.'
I looked at him with new interest.
'What is your last name, Chester?' I asked.
'Heavens,' he said.
I thought at first that was an exclamation of surprise, but then he said, 'Chester Heavens, sah,' and I knew that we had something else in common.
'The maid is Perdita Schug,' he continued, 'and Mrs Bertha Neckin is our cook and housekeeper. That is our permanent staff, sah. We three have our apartments here.
In addition, the house is serviced by a twice-a-week cleaning crew and a janitor who comes in for a few hours each morning for garbage removal, maintenance chores,
and jobs of that nature. Temporary staff are employed as needed for special occasions: large dinners, parties, dances, and so forth.'
'Thank you, Chester,' I said. Then, to convince him I was not interested in information or gossip extraneous to my assignment, I said, 'The furnishings in the apartments of the permanent staff — are they owned by Mrs Kipper?'
'Oh yes, sah. The furniture is, yes. We have a few personal possessions. Pictures, radios, bric-a-brac — things of that sort.'
'I understand,' I said, making quick notes.
We descended via elevator to the fourth floor. This level, Chester told me, was totally uninhabited. But all the rooms were furnished, all the doors unlocked. There were four bedrooms (each with its own bathroom) that had been used by the Kipper children. In addition, there were two large guest bedrooms, also with baths. There was also a sewing room, a completely equipped darkroom that had been used by one of the Kipper sons with an interest in photography, and one room that seemed designed and furnished with no particular activity in mind.
'What is this room?' I asked.
'Just a room, sah,' Chester said casually, and I found myself repeating silently what Detective Stilton and Godfrey Knurr had already said: 'A terrible waste of space.'
The third floor appeared to be a little more lived-in. It included a comfortable, wood-panelled library-den which, Chester said, had frequently been used by the late Sol Kipper to entertain old friends at pinochle or gin rummy games, or just to have a brandy and cigar after dinner.
Also on this floor was the apartment of the cook-housekeeper, Mrs Bertha Neckin. It was a snug suite with bright Indian rugs on polished parquet floors and a lot of chintz.
Framed photographs were everywhere, mostly of children.
There were two more guest bedrooms on the third floor and one long chamber across the front of the house illuminated by two bow windows. This was called the
'summer room' and was furnished with white wicker, circus and travel posters on the walls and, at one end, a little stage for the production of puppet shows, an enthusiasm, Chester told me, of all the Kipper children when they were young. I liked that room.
The second floor consisted of a large, mirrored ballroom, with a raised platform at one end for a band or entertainment. Straight chairs lined the walls, and there were connecting bathrooms and a small dressing room for the ladies.
Chester Heavens had his apartment on this floor. It consisted of a bedroom, small study, and bathroom. The furnishings revealed no more than the man himself. Everything was clean, neat, squared away. Almost precise. No photographs. Few books. A radio and a small, portable TV set. The paintings on the walls were empty landscapes.
'Very nice,' I said politely.
Then I asked the butler if the house was ever filled, if all those bedrooms were ever used. He said they had been, when the first Mrs Kipper was alive, during the holiday season. Then all the Kipper children and their children and sometimes cousins, aunts, and uncles came to spend a week or longer. There were big dinners, dances, parties.
There was confusion, noise, and laughter.
'But not after Mr Kipper remarried?' I asked.
'No, sah,' he said, his face expressionless. 'The family no longer gathers.'
On the ground floor, in addition to the entrance hall and sitting room which I had already seen, were the formal living room, dining room, kitchen and pantry. I took a quick look through the French doors of the dining room at the patio. It looked even more forlorn than it had from six floors up.