“It’s so difficult,” said Lucy Craddock. “You see, there was a private matter that was very much on my mind, and when it came to the point I felt that I really could not get into the train and go away. I felt that I had not done all I might. It was quite a private matter, Mr. Abbott.”
“My poor Lucinda,” said Peter-“nothing is private in this affair. Everyone knows that you were unhappy about the way Ross was running after Mavis.”
“Oh, my dear!”
Peter patted her shoulder.
“I know-but it can’t be helped. Brace up! We’ve all got to get used to living in public. Now get back to where you felt you couldn’t go away without having another shot at making Mavis see reason.”
“I felt I must,” said Lucy Craddock with sudden energy. “I was going to spend the night with Maggie Simpson at Folkestone-Professor Simpson’s daughter, a very old friend-so I thought I could see Mavis, and catch an early morning train and cross by the same boat as the others. It was a conducted tour, you know. So I put my luggage in the cloakroom and sent off a telegram.”
“Yes?”
“And then-yes, I think I had a sandwich and some milk, because I didn’t want to arrive in the middle of their dinner. And then I started out to go to Holland Park.”
“Mavis Grey lives out there with an uncle and aunt,” said Peter.
Abbott nodded,
“Yes-I’ve got the address. What time did you get there, Miss Craddock?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Abbott. It was getting dark. It took me a long time, because I got on to the wrong bus. And when I got there my niece had gone out-so dreadfully disappointing.”
“Darling Lucinda, why didn’t you telephone?”
“I never thought of it, my dear.”
“What did you do after that, Miss Craddock?”
“I came round here to see if Phoebe could put me up, but she was out too. She only has a maid in the morning, and there was no one to answer the door, so I went away. And I went into a cinema because I was getting so dreadfully tired, but I can’t remember what the picture was or anything aboutit.”
“Why didn’t you go home to your own flat, Lucinda?”
Lucy Craddock clasped Her hands.
“I felt that I must see Mavis-I didn’t seem to be able to think of anything else. I stayed in the cinema until it shut, and then I went back to Holland Park and walked up and down waiting for Mavis to come home. I just felt I couldn’t go away without seeing her. And then it came to me-suppose she doesn’t come home.”
“What time was this?” said Frank Abbott.
“It struck twelve, and it struck one, and I kept walking up and down. And then it came to me that Mavis wasn’t coming back, and I thought, ‘I’ll wait another half hour,’ so I did, and a little more. And then I knew it was no good, so I went home.”
“Home to Craddock House?”
“Yes, my dear. And oh, I do wish I hadn’t.” Lucy Craddock began to tremble.
Peter put his hand down over hers and steadied them.
“It’s all right-you’re doing very nicely. You just go on and tell us what happened.”
“Do you know what time it was when you got to Craddock House?” said Frank Abbott.
“I don’t know, but I think it must have been after two. I must have heard a clock strike two, because I remember thinking how dreadfully late it was, and I got home about a quarter of an hour after that. You see, it took me a long time from Holland Park because I was so very tired and-and distressed, and I think I went out of my way several times.”
“Yes,” said Frank Abbott. “And at about a quarter past two you came to Craddock House. Was the street door shut? That is one of the things we very much want to know about.”
Lucy Craddock pulled herself up on the sofa, pushing away Peter’s hand and sitting up clear of the cushions.
“Oh, no-it wasn’t shut,” she said in an agitated voice. “I had my key all ready, but I didn’t have to use it. I saw someone come down the steps, and when I got up to the door I found that it wasn’t latched. It upset me very much indeed to think of anyone being so careless.”
Peter Renshaw felt a quickening of every pulse. If Lucy had seen someone come out of Craddock House at a quarter past two, then she had probably seen Ross Craddock’s murderer.
Abbott said quickly,
“You saw someone come down the steps. Could you see who it was?”
“Oh, no, Mr. Abbott.”
“How near were you?”
“I don’t quite know-not very near. I had stopped to get out my key, and I saw someone come down the steps quickly-like a shadow.”
“Man, or woman?”
“Indeed I don’t know. It startled me to see someone coming out of the house so late, but I couldn’t see who it was. I wasn’t very near, and the porch casts a shadow. I could only see that someone had come down the steps, and when I got there and found the door unlatched-”
“Miss Craddock, this is very important indeed. You say you saw a figure come down the steps. It must have made some impression on you at the time. Shut your eyes and try and think just what you did see-something moving, coming down the steps, coming out of the shadow of the porch, coming down on to the pavement. There must have been a moment when you saw that figure against the light at the corner of the road, Try and think how it looked to you then.”
“It’s no use,” said Lucy Craddock in a shaking voice.“I am short-sighted, Mr. Abbott, and I was very much disturbed at the time.”
“Did the figure go away from you towards the corner?”
She shook her head.
“There is a little alleyway between our house and the next one. I think whoever it was must have gone through that way-oh, yes, they must, because I lost sight of them immediately.”
Peter said, “You know, Fug, that street lamp is a good way off-it doesn’t really light the front of Craddock House.”
Frank Abbott sighed.
“Well, we’d better go on. You got to the door, and you found it open-”
“Unlatched,” said Lucy Craddock. “And I thought how strange it was, and I went in and shut it after me as quietly as I could because of Mr. Pyne-he sleeps so badly, you know, and always complains that he hears every sound.”
“Well, on the one occasion when he might usefully have heard something, he seems to have slept all night. Will you go on, Miss Craddock?”
“I began to go upstairs. The light was on in the hall as usual, but all the landing lights were out. I thought that was very strange indeed.”
“You didn’t put the lights on?”
“No, I went up in the dark. I thought I would put on the light when I came to my own landing. You see, I had given the key of my flat to Lee Fenton, so I knew I should have to ring and wake her up.”
“And did you?”
“No.” She sank back against the cushions and clasped her hands again. She said in slow, halting sentences, “I had to find the switch. It is on the wall by the door of Ross’s flat. I was feeling for it when I pushed the door and felt it move. I remembered the front door being open, and I was very frightened. It didn’t seem to me to be at all right. I opened the door a little way, and there was a light coming from the sitting-room. I called out, and I said, ‘Ross, are you there?’ ”
Her voice quavered in the telling, as it must surely have quavered when she stood in the dark and called to the man who lay dead in the room beyond. She drew a long breath and went on.
“I thought I ought to see if everything was all right. I went into the hall. The sitting-room door was standing wide open. From where I stood I could see a broken wine glass lying on the floor. There was a horrible smell of spirits and-and gunpowder. I thought about fireworks-and then I thought Ross wouldn’t. And then I began to be very, very frightened indeed. I felt as if I must go in, but I was so dreadfully afraid. I had to go in. I was sure something dreadful had happened. I saw Ross lying on the floor-with a pistol in his hand-”