‘I prefer that,’ replied Hurst, reassured. ‘See how, with a little good faith, we can get to the right answer.’
Dr. Twist and the inspector took their leave at eleven o’clock. The main street of the village was deserted and the illuminated windows could be counted on the fingers of one hand.
‘If our clairvoyant is sleeping under the stars,’ proclaimed Hurst, who had regained his good humour, ‘he hasn’t got much to complain about. It’s not all that warm, agreed, but for an October night, it’s not so bad. The sky is with him, for the moment at least. I must say, Twist, that your reasoning about Sarah Thorne being afraid of her husband wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. Particularly since it fits well with her visit to the solicitor. I wanted to tell you that earlier, but I preferred to keep quiet because of the will. The fact that she left half her fortune to Brian and nothing to her fiancé …do you see what I mean? She acted as if she were in the grip of a terrible fear, as if her husband were still watching her.’
‘That was the basis of my reasoning.’
‘The poor girl must have lost her marbles. It doesn’t surprise me, what with the lugubrious manor and her brother-in-law who thinks he’s the Messiah. Yes, that’s the only explanation.’
‘Tell me, old friend, didn’t you notice some strange things tonight? Certain attitudes?’
‘Well yes… The way Francis Hilton behaved in particular. He seemed very upset when I told him someone had overheard his conversation with his sister.’
‘Actually, I thought he was the only one who behaved more or less normally. Look, Archibald, I know you consider me a confirmed bachelor living the life of a monk — which is not entirely true — but I wasn’t born yesterday. Two couples were present tonight. One couple married for less than a year, the other recently engaged. Well, I tell you that three quarters of them didn’t behave the way they should have done.’
‘Twist,’ exclaimed Hurst, trying to remain calm, ‘what are you talking about?’
‘Well, let’s start with young Mrs. Hilton, Paula. Her comportment with her husband was “normal,” so to speak, but her furtive looks at Patrick Nolan whenever he got too close to his fiancée certainly were not. Nothing much, just a flicker in those blue eyes, but she seemed upset. And you could see the same kind of look from Nolan when Paula got close to her husband, but far more noticeably. And I have an advantage over you because I know the young man. When he came to see me on Sunday to tell me about the case, I noticed he spoke about Paula with a certain reticence, as if he had something to hide.’
‘To be blunt about it, do you think the two of them are carrying on?’
‘I wouldn’t swear to it, one way or the other. But that’s not the worst of it. When Nolan came to see me on Sunday, he was passionate about the case like any self-respecting detective — which he is, by the way — with fervour, eyes gleaming with excitement and dying to know the outcome. Did you notice him tonight? He sat in his armchair, hardly saying a word, like a sleeping cat. How do you explain such a complete change in a case that’s becoming more and more baffling? He must have learnt something between Sunday and today. Don’t ask me what, I don’t know. Something he doesn’t want to talk about. That bothers me, Hurst, and more than you might think.
‘Now let’s talk about Miss Blount, whom I find charming, by the way. Alas! I’ve a feeling she’s also hiding something. Did you notice how quickly she got rid of the mother and grandfather? And that story about the wheelbarrow which changed places doesn’t satisfy me either. It’s so senseless there must be an explanation….’
‘Twist, it’s you that I’m starting to worry about.’
The eminent detective ignored the remark. Walking along the sleepy street with long strides, he continued:
‘Yes, our charming hostess is hiding something. Did you notice how she jumped at the slightest noise and kept looking at the door?’
‘Was she afraid as well?’
‘No, that’s not it. At least, not exactly. She was anxious and on the alert, as if she were waiting for something to happen. It’s not the same thing at all.’
Hurst cleared his throat loudly, trying to keep his mounting anger under control.
‘A year ago,’ continued Twist, ‘you came to see me to talk about Thorne’s death. We went over the night of the tragedy in great detail. I remember drawing your attention to the peculiar movements of some of the players.’
‘That’s right, but without, of course, telling me who or what it was about. As usual, you see everything and I see nothing. That’s why I keep saying: “To see or not to see, that is the question.”’
‘What are you saying, old friend, what in heaven’s name are you saying?’
‘Don’t treat me like an idiot. I hope you understand that I know I’ve misquoted Shakespeare for the purpose of… What’s got into you?’
Twist had stopped and was looking up at the sky with an ecstatic smile. Pronouncing each syllable carefully, he said:
‘“To see or not to see, that is the question. To see or not to see, that is the question….”” Turning to Hurst, he said. ‘Archibald, it’s a fact that without you I would be the least significant of detectives. To see or not to see, don’t you understand? When Sarah Thorne opened the door….’
‘What did she see?’
‘She didn’t see anything at all. And that’s why she fell backwards: because she didn’t see anything at all!’
22
Hurst didn’t fall asleep until three o’clock in the morning, and even then Twist’s enigmatic words were still haunting his dreams. The next day, Thursday, the two of them were back in London, but they returned to Hatton again on the Friday to attend Sarah’s funeral.
It was four o’clock when the pall bearers carried the deceased’s coffin down the stone steps of the chapel leading to the Thorne family vault. The day was relatively mild, even though the sky was overcast and rain threatened, but the chapel itself was cold and damp. Francis, his expression sombre, had his arm around a tearful Paula. Patrick and Bessie followed in reverential silence behind them, with the young detective casting furtive looks all about him. Mike Meadows, wearing an impeccable dark suit, wore a haggard expression. As the undertakers left, Mrs. Dorothy Hilton burst into uncontrollable sobs while her husband tried to console her. Dr. Twist and Inspector Hurst stood at a discreet distance by the chapel door. As the slab was being put back in place, the policeman whispered in his friend’s ear:
‘Since the murderer always attends the victim’s funeral, I’m beginning to doubt it was actually murder. In my opinion, either Brian’s the guilty party, or there isn’t one.’
Twist didn’t reply. Behind his pince-nez, his eyes followed the direction of Patrick Nolan’s furtive looks.
Shortly afterwards, all present gathered in the salon of Hatton Manor except Patrick, who had caught his trousers on a rose bush and gone back to the Blount residence to change.
Mostyn served tea in an uncomfortable silence. Mrs. Hilton took a sip and retired after excusing herself. Her husband watched her go and seemed on the point of following her, but stayed where he was and took out a cigarette. Bravely overcoming his own grief, he tried to console the others. Mike Meadows also lit a cigarette and addressed the policeman: