“As soon as possible, Tom.”
Tom departed with a blithe wave of his hand.
Sands went down the steps. “Well, Bill?” he said to the young man who was touching Duncan’s skull with careful fingers.
Dr. William Sutton, the coroner’s assistant, straightened up and said, “Skull fracture. He landed with his head on this flagstone. As you can see, the flagstone has several sharp edges. What probably happened was this: he got to the top of the steps, lost his balance, and fell down backward.”
“And falling down twelve stone steps would kill him?”
“Apparently,” Sutton said. “He’s dead. The only odd thing about it is the bruise on his chin. If he fell backward how could he have bruised his chin? If he fell forward he wouldn’t normally have fallen in the position he’s in now. Any reason to suspect murder?”
“An excellent reason.”
“That’s fine,” Sutton said. “Makes the whole setup simpler. He was standing at the top of the steps, someone took a swing at his chin, and he fell down backward. If the swing was pretty terrific he might have missed most of the steps and landed at the bottom. If it wasn’t, he’ll have bruises and breaks on the rest of his body.”
“Find that out,” Sands said. “As soon as Joe has gone over his clothes, take him away.”
The man called Joe was busy dusting the outside doorknob with aluminum powder. At the sound of his name he looked up and said sourly, “I can’t go over his clothes for fingerprints here. I’ll need calcium sulphide for the suit and silver nitrate for the shirt and handkerchief.”
“I know that,” Sands said patiently. “I want you to collect the dust from his pocket before he’s moved. The stuff on his hat looks like sawdust.”
Interested, Joe came down the steps. “It is sawdust,” he said.
“Where in hell would he get sawdust?” Sutton asked.
“From a planing mill,” Joe said. “Maybe he’s a lumber king.”
For the next half-hour Joe worked carefully, brushing the sawdust into a sterile bottle with a tiny brush and the dust from Duncan’s pockets into other bottles. He wore close-fitting cotton gloves.
Dr. Sutton was bored after ten minutes of this procedure and went inside to get his coffee. Jackson served him in the dining room with Dennis. Dennis asked a great many questions to which Sutton replied with polite disinterest: “I’m sure I don’t know,” or, “I have no idea.”
Dennis was annoyed. “I suppose you know whether he’s dead or not?” he inquired acidly.
Sutton said, “Oh, he’s dead all right.”
“Do we have to get our information from the newspapers?”
Sutton grinned. “Not even there, Mr. Williams.”
He finished his coffee, thanked Jackson, and strolled outside again. When Dennis followed him out five minutes later there was nothing to prove that the whole thing had not been a dream except the stains on the flagstone and the small gray-beige figure of Inspector Sands hunched over the table in the library.
The library door was open so Dennis went in.
Sands looked up. “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Williams. Come in and close the door.”
Dennis did. “Have they taken away the... the body?”
“Yes. Sit down.”
“No, thanks. I’ll stand.”
“Nervous, Mr. Williams?”
Dennis sat down. “Why should I be nervous?”
“You had a quarrel with Mr. Stevens yesterday, perhaps.”
“I did not.”
“You have a black eye.”
“Yes,” Dennis said, smiling slightly, “but Duncan didn’t give it to me. I scarcely knew him, so we had no reason to fight. The eye is a present from Mrs. Revel.”
“You are, in fact, a stranger here except for your friendship with Mrs. Revel?”
“Not exactly,” Dennis said. “I’ve been here before with Dinah. I knew Mrs. Shane and Nora and Miss O’Shauphnessy. The others I didn’t meet until this week.” He paused, jerking nervously at his tie. “As a matter of fact, I didn’t want to come here in the first place. The wedding is a family affair. I feel like an interloper.”
“Mrs. Revel wanted you to come?”
“Yes,” Dennis said. “Now I suppose I’ll have to stay.”
Sands shook his head. “Of course not. When you have made a complete signed statement you will be free to leave. Providing, naturally, that no evidence against you turns up. I presume you’re anxious to get back to your business in Montreal?”
“I— Yes, I am.”
“Just what is your business, Mr. Williams? I don’t believe you told me that yesterday.”
“Bonds.”
“The address of your firm, please?”
“George Revel and Company, Rand Building.”
“Is that any relation to Mrs. Revel?” Sands asked.
“Her husband,” Dennis said stiffly. “Her former husband, I mean.”
“Interesting.”
“Yes, it’s damn interesting. But it hasn’t got anything to do with Duncan.”
“Probably not.”
From the room above and the hall outside came sounds of a house coining to life: footsteps and running water and now and then the bang of a door and the sound of voices.
Dennis was sitting on the edge of his chair, listening, his body tense. Sands’ quiet voice startled him:
“I’m fond of Macbeth.”
“I’ve never read it,” Dennis said.
“But yesterday in the drawing room you were quite perturbed when Miss O’Shaughnessy predicted the death of Duncan.”
“Death?” Dennis threw back his head and laughed. “I didn’t know it meant a death. It just said ‘fatal entrance of Duncan!’ ”
Go on.
“And I— Well, frankly, Duncan was a skunk. He threatened to tell George about Dinah and me. Naturally, I don’t want that. I have to earn my living and I have a good job. George Revel would have fired me immediately if he’d found out. He’s still in love with Dinah, I think.”
“And so?”
“And so I thought Aspasia had found out that Duncan was going to tell, and that she was warning me that Duncan’s entrance was fatal for me.”
Sands leaned back, smiling. A plausible young man, he decided, of the genus natural liar. “I understand,” he said aloud. “Now if you’d like to bring Mrs. Shane and her daughter and Miss Stevens in here, I’ll break the news to them. Better bring Dr. Prye too, in case Miss Stevens takes it badly.”
Dennis got up, his face paling. “I’d forgotten about Jane. She’ll be—”
Sands spoke soothingly. “Miss Stevens hasn’t a sensitive, nervous temperament. She will absorb the shock nicely, I think.”
Dennis hesitated, then swung around and went out. He looked angry, the inspector noticed with some surprise.
While he was waiting, he put through two telephone calls. The first was to headquarters asking that Sergeant Bannister and a stenographer be sent out immediately. The second was to the morgue. Dr. Sutton was in the main autopsy room and had left orders that he was not to be disturbed.
Sands replaced the telephone and went to the door. Mrs. Shane was coming downstairs. She wore a silk brocaded housecoat, and Sands knew from the expression on her face that she guessed what he had to tell her. At the bottom of the steps she paused and waited for Jane.
Jane was next. She clung to the banister, murmuring plaintively that it was so early, she hated to get up early. Mrs. Shane took her arm firmly and led her toward the library.
Jane looked at the inspector with reproach. “I told you everything I knew yesterday. You needn’t have come so early.”
She yawned and sighed and curled up on the window seat. Her blond curls were tousled and she looked like a sleepy kitten.
Nora and Prye came in together. Prye shut the door.
“Any news?” he asked.