"There is an enemy here," the voice said. "Somebody who doesn't believe, who motives are evil. . ." Rowe could feel Cost's fingers tighten round his. He wondered whether Hilfe was still completely oblivious to what was happening: he wanted to shout to him for help, but convention held him as firmly as Cost's hand. Again a board creaked. Why all this mummery, he thought, if they are all in it? But perhaps they were not all in it. For anything he knew he was surrounded by friends -- but he didn't know which they were.
"Arthur."
He pulled at the hands holding him: that wasn't Mrs Bellairs' voice.
"Arthur."
The flat hopeless voice might really have come from beneath the heavy graveyard slab.
"Arthur, why did you kill. . ." The voice moaned away into silence, and he struggled against the hands. It wasn't that he recognized the voice: it was no more his wife's than any woman's dying out in infinite hopelessness, pain and reproach: it was that the voice had recognized him. A light moved near the ceiling, feeling its way along the walls, and he cried, "Don't. Don't."
"Arthur," the voice whispered.
He forgot everything, he no longer listened for secretive movements, the creak of boards. He simply implored, "Stop it, please stop it," and felt Cost rise from the seat beside him and pull at his hand and then release it, throw the hand violently away, as though it were something he didn't like to hold. Even Miss Pantil let him go, and he heard Hilfe say, "This isn't funny. Put on the light."
It dazzled him, going suddenly on. They all sat there with joined hands watching him; he had broken the circle -- only Mrs Bellairs seemed to see nothing, with her head down and her eyes closed and her breathing heavy. "Well," Hilfe said, trying to raise a laugh, "that was certainly quite an act," but Mr Newey said, "Cost. Look at Cost," and Rowe looked with all the others at his neighbour. He was taking no more interest in anything, leaning forward across the table with his face sunk on the French polish.
"Get a doctor," Hilfe said.
"I'm a doctor," Dr Forester said. He released the hands on either side of him, and everyone became conscious of sitting there like children playing a game and surreptitiously let each other go. He said gently, "A doctor's no good, I'm afraid. The only thing to do is to call the police."
Mrs Bellairs had half-woken up and sat with leery eyes and her tongue a little protruding.
"It must be his heart," Mr Newey said. "Couldn't stand the excitement."
"I'm afraid not," Dr Eorester said. "He has been murdered." His old noble face was bent above the body; one long sensitive delicate hand dabbled and came up stained like a beautiful insect that feeds incongruously on carrion.
"Impossible," Mr Newey said, "the door was locked."
"It's a pity," Dr Forester said, "but there's a very simple explanation of that. One of us did it."
"But we were all," Hilfe said, "holding. . ." Then they all looked at Rowe.
"He snatched away his hand," Miss Pantil said.
Dr Forester said softly, "I'm not going to touch the body again before the police come. Cost was stabbed with a kind of schoolboy's knife. . ."
Rowe put his hand quickly to an empty pocket and saw a room full of eyes noting the movement.
"We must get Mrs Bellairs out of this," Dr Forester said. "Any séance is a strain, but this one. . ." He and Hilfe between them raised the turbaned bulk; the hand which had so delicately dabbled in Cost's blood retrieved the key of the room with equal delicacy. "The rest of you," Dr Forester said, "had better stay here, I think. I'll telephone to Netting Hill police station, and then we'll both be back."
For a long while there was silence after they had gone; nobody looked at Rowe, but Miss Pantil had slid her chair well away from him, so that he now sat alone beside the corpse, as though they were two friends who had got together at a party. Presently Mr Newey said, "I'll never catch my train unless they hurry." Anxiety fought with horror -- any moment the sirens might go -- he caressed his sandalled foot across his knee, and young Maude said hotly, "I don't know why you should stay," glaring at Rowe.
It occurred to Rowe that he had not said one word to defend himself: the sense of guilt for a different crime stopped his mouth. Besides, what could he, a stranger, say to Miss Pantil, Mr Newey and young Maude to convince them that in fact it was one of their friends who had murdered? He took a quick look at Cost, half expecting him to come alive again and laugh at them -- "one of my tests", but nobody could have been deader than Cost was now. He thought: somebody here has killed him -- it was fantastic, more fantastic really than that he should have done it himself. After all, he belonged to the region of murder -- he was a native of that country. As the police will know, he thought, as the police will know.
The door opened and Hilfe returned. He said, "Dr Forester is looking after Mrs Bellairs. I have telephoned to the police." His eyes were saying something to Rowe which Rowe couldn't understand. Rowe thought: I must see him alone, surely he can't believe. . .
He said, "Would anybody object if I went to the lavatory and was sick?"
Miss Pantil said, "I don't think anybody ought to leave this room till the police come."
"I think," Hilfe said, 'somebody should go with you. As a formality, of course."
"Why beat about the bush," Miss Pantil said. "Whose knife is it?"
"Perhaps Mr Newey," Hilfe said, "wouldn't mind going with Mr Rowe. . ."
"I won't be drawn in," Newey said. "This has nothing to do with me. I only want to catch my train."
"Perhaps I had better go then," Hilfe said, "if you will trust me." No one objected.
The lavatory was on the first floor. They could hear from the landing the steady soothing rhythm of Dr Forester's voice in Mrs Bellairs' bedroom. "I'm all right," Rowe whispered. "But Hilfe, I didn't do it."
There was something shocking in the sense of exhilaration Hilfe conveyed at a time like this. "Of course you didn't," he said. "This is the Real Thing."
"But why? Who did it?"
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out." He put his hand on Rowe's arm with a friendliness that was very comforting, urging him into the lavatory and locking the door behind them. "Only, old fellow, you must be off out of this. They'll hang you if they can. Anyway, they'll shut you up for weeks. It's so convenient for Them."
"What can I do? It's my knife."
"They are devils, aren't they," Hilfe said with the same light-hearted relish he might have used for a children's clever prank. "We've just got to keep you out of the way till Mr Rennit and I. . . By the way, better tell me who rang you up."
"It was your sister."
"My sister. . ." Hilfe grinned at him. "Good for her, she must have got hold of something. I wonder just where. She warned you, did she?"
"Yes, but I was not to tell you."