“Dr. Frith says he was pushed?”
“Yes, he does.”
“Why?”
He told her.
She said, “I see-” and then, “But who-who?”
“That’s what Vyner is trying to find out.”
“If Irene tells him what the Governor said last night, he’ll be pretty well bound to think it’s one of us,” said Brenda Ambrose.
Lydia said “I see-” again. Then she went up to Mark, took him by the arm, and walked him off through the connecting door into Phyllida’s bedroom.
Brenda said, “Well!”
Behind the closed door Lydia kept her hold on Mark.
“What’s the matter with you?”
He stared at her.
“Mark, what is it-why do you look like that?”
He said, “How do you expect me to look? He’s been murdered, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, my dear. But you mustn’t make things worse, must you? That doesn’t do any good.”
No one could have believed that Lydia’s voice could sound so soft. She put up her other hand and began to stroke his arm.
“It’s been a most dreadful shock. You must pull yourself together. Do you hear, Mark-you must! He isn’t here to help us any more-we’ve got to look to you. It would have happened some day. It’s happened suddenly like this. You’ve got to take his place-do what he would have wanted. Don’t you see?”
He said, still in that harsh voice,
“You don’t see anything at all.”
“What do you mean, Mark?”
He pulled away from her and went over to the window. With his back to her he said,
“You’re right about one thing-it falls on me. I can’t see any farther than that. I meant to get away. That’s gone too. I’ve lost my chance. Now I’ll have to stay.”
She came slowly up to him, but did not touch him again.
“Why were you going away?”
He said in a tone of despair,
“I can’t go now. I’ve lost my chance. I shall have to stay.”
The room was warm, but Lydia’s hands were cold. After a moment she said,
“What are you going to do, Mark-about what happened at dinner last night? What sort of questions have been asked?”
“Nothing yet. Vyner hasn’t seen anyone except Aunt Grace. She didn’t mean to say anything. I don’t know how hard he pressed her. It was her idea that we should all hold our tongues. Personally I don’t think it’s practicable. It would have been all right if it had really been an accident-they’d have asked Aunt Grace and old Horton about his health, and that would have been the end of it. But if Frith says it’s murder, they’ll sift through everything that happened in the house last night. Ten of us heard that speech of his. One of them is Irene. Do you suppose for a moment that it’s possible to keep it dark? Something is bound to come out. And when things start coming out you don’t know where they’re going to stop.”
At any rate he was talking now. That dreadful brooding silence had been broken. She said,
“Come back to the others and talk it over. What does Elliot say?”
“I don’t know-I wasn’t attending very much-I think he thought we should hold our tongues. But that was before Albert came in and told us what Frith was saying.”
“Albert?”
“Yes, he came in and told us. Right on the top of that Vyner came along to see Aunt Grace, and we all cleared out. We don’t know what she’s said to him. We don’t know what he’s asked her.”
The colour came suddenly into Lydia’s face and burned there. He had turned from the window. She caught his arm and shook it.
“Why are we talking like this? Why should we tangle ourselves up with a lot of lies? We haven’t got anything to hide.”
“Haven’t we?” His tone was sombre.
“Why don’t we tell the truth?”
She was looking up into his face. His eyes avoided her. He said,
“Do you know what it is?” Then, almost violently, “Have you forgotten what he said in that damned speech of his? He accused one of us of a crime. That’s what it amounted to, didn’t it-he accused one of us-one of the ten people who’d been dining with him. And he said he’d wait in his study for one of us to come and confess. Well, he waited, and he was murdered. Do you think Vyner’s going to look outside of those ten people for the murderer?”
She said, “I suppose not.” And then, “I don’t think it’s going to help us to tell lies about it.”
He said with great bitterness,
“It’s a million to one we don’t get away with it if we do. Which gets us back to ‘Honesty is the best policy’ and all the other copybook maxims. I’ve had all I can swallow. Let’s go back and preach to the others.”
Chapter 18
Irene passed nervously into the study, threw a shrinking glance about her, and sat down as far from the writing-table as possible. To the Superintendent’s invitation to come a little nearer she responded with obvious reluctance. So very, very odd to see him sitting there in Mr. Paradine’s place. No one else had ever sat there or used the table. She had the feeling that he might walk in suddenly and surprise them, and be very, very angry. The thought of it made her feel as if cold water was running down her back, like the drip from an umbrella. She did hope this statement business wasn’t going to take long.
The Superintendent was looking at her quite kindly and politely. He said, like an echo of what she was thinking,
“I won’t keep you long, Mrs. Ambrose. I just want you to tell me what happened last night.”
“Last night?”
“Yes. There was a New Year’s Eve party here, wasn’t there? You, and your husband, and Miss Ambrose, and Miss Pennington came to it?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Dinner was at eight, I think, or just a little later. You were in the dining-room till about nine. At half past nine you and your party went home. Now why was that?”
Irene brightened.
“Oh, yes-my little girl wasn’t well-at least I was afraid she might be sickening for something, but she’s quite all right today. You see, she had a spot on her chest, and Dr. Horton said it was nothing, but you never can tell with spots, and though she didn’t have a temperature or anything, or of course I shouldn’t have dreamed of leaving her, I was naturally anxious to get back. I didn’t want to come out at all, but my husband really insisted. And of course Mr. Paradine wouldn’t have liked it if any of us had stayed away.”
Superintendent Vyner said, “Quite so.” And then, “So it was on your little girl’s account that you went home so early. It wasn’t on account of anything that happened at dinner?”
Irene’s expression changed. The interest with which she had been talking about little Rena faded out. She appeared disconcerted. She put up her hand and fumbled inefficiently with a straggling lock of hair.
The Superintendent repeated his question.
“Something did happen at dinner, didn’t it? You wanted to get home to your little girl. But your husband wouldn’t have broken up the party just for that. There was something more, wasn’t there?”
Irene never found it easy to switch her mind from one topic to another. She seized upon what seemed to her to be a connecting link.
“Oh, but he didn’t mind a bit,” she said. “It was really his own idea-I wouldn’t have liked to go as early as that. It was Frank who suggested it-it really was.”
It was no use, the piece of hair wouldn’t tuck in. She left it straying, put her hands in her lap, and gazed earnestly at the Superintendent. She wasn’t nervous now. He seemed a very nice man. She wondered how old he was. Perhaps he had grandchildren like Jimmy and Rena. If she got a chance she would ask him. He had rather nice blue eyes. She did hope Rena’s eyes were going to be blue-
And then he was saying,
“Mr. Ambrose wanted to go home because of what happened at dinner?”
Her mouth fell open. Frank wouldn’t want her to say yes. She said in a confused voice,