“I see. Pray continue.”
“Mrs. Tregorran arrived a little before eleven o’clock. As Mrs. Mandeville has said, I escorted her to the studio and after tapping on the door announced her arrival.”
“Did you see Mr. Tregorran on that occasion?”
“No, Mr. Pons. I left Mrs. Tregorran at the door and as I gained the end of the corridor I heard the door close behind her. I was busy about my household duties and at about midday I collected a tray from Mrs. Mandeville and took him an early lunch. I knocked at the door and left the tray on the table outside the door.”
“That was a usual procedure also, I understand?”
“Indeed, sir.”
“And Mrs. Tregorran?”
“The lady rarely took lunch, sir; or if she did she ate at about two o’clock in the afternoon. But Mr. Tregorran’s eating habits were entirely different and he often said he felt starved if he did not take something at midday.”
“I see. What then?”
“Nothing untoward occurred, sir, until shortly after two o’clock. Mrs. Tregorran was still in the studio and I was in my room, reading after lunch. I was just about to return to my duties when I heard terrible screams coming from the direction of the studio. My room is just along the corridor, around the corner but the noise was so horrible that I could hear it clearly from there. I ran down to the door but as I had expected, it was locked.”
Solar Pons’ eyes were sharp and glittering as he lit his pipe, shovelling aromatic blue smoke over his shoulder.
“Pray be precise as to detail. It is most important.”
“Very well, Mr. Pons. There was no reply to my agitated knocking. The screaming had stopped but I could hear a fierce struggle taking place in the studio. Things were being knocked over and bodies were blundering about. It was a dreadful time and difficult to describe, I am afraid.”
“Your account is admirably clear, Relph. What then?” “Other members of the staff had appeared, including Mrs. Mandeville. She sent a maid for the gardener and he and I broke the door in together. I went into the roomalone, and as a result of what I saw the gardener went immediately to summon the police. Mrs. Tregorran was lying near one of the big windows, her eyes wide open and staring, her tongue protruding from her mouth. It was evident that she had been strangled, for there were heavily indented bruise-marks on her throat.”
“Where was Mr. Tregorran?”
“He was slumped in a heap in the centre of the studio, sir, midway between the platform used by the models, and the window. He was in a dreadful state, his face white and chalky, perspiration on his forehead, his eyes glazed.”
“Did he give you any explanation as to why he had attacked his wife?”
The manservant shook his head.
“He was incapable of saying or doing anything, Mr. Pons. He was incoherent, barely conscious and in a complete state of collapse. He kept mumbling things. In fact, had I not known Mr. Tregorran so well, I should have said he was little short of a madman.”
There was a deep silence in the room. Solar Pons looked at me, his eyes shrewd and penetrating.
“Most singular, Parker, is it not?”
“Indeed, Pons,” I said.
My companion rose to his feet.
“Well, there is little further to be learned here unless you have anything to add, Relph. You have been most helpful.” Relph shook his head.
“I have told you everything I know, sir.”
He looked resentfully at Inspector Jamison.
“Unless you wish to know personal matters that might tell against Mr. Tregorran. Such as those the Inspector questioned me about.”
“Oh, what was that, Inspector?”
Jamison shifted uncomfortably by the fireplace.
“We’re seeking information about certain lady friends of Mr. Tregorran’s, Mr. Pons.”
Relph had a stubborn, defiant look on his face.
“My answer would be the same to you, sir, as to the Inspector here.”
“And what was that?”
“Why, to ask Mr. Tregorran, sir.”
Pons chuckled.
“Quite right. Your attitude does you credit. Come, Parker.
It is time we had a word with the accused man himself.”
-3-
A short drive brought us to Chelsea Police Station where Jamison ushered us through into a small, bare room with white-washed walls which contained nothing but a desk, a mahogany filing cabinet and a few chairs. I was prepared for a change in my friend when he was shown into my presence but never had I seen such a transformation in a man. I had not seen him in the flesh for some years, it was true, but the photographs in newspapers and magazines of the tall, handsome, glossy-haired man had not prepared me for this pale, blanched creature with lack-lustre eyes who was escorted into the office by two constables.
Tregorran was dressed only in a shirt and trousers and I noticed that he had no belt or braces, having to keep his hands on the latter garment to hold them up.
“Really, Inspector!” I protested. “He is not a common criminal!”
Jamison shot me a reproachful glance.
“It is necessary for his own good, Dr. Parker. We were afraid he might hang himself overnight. And I am afraid that whether he is your friend or no, he is a common criminal now.”
I bit my lip and hurried over to the desk where Tregorran sat slumped, his dead, soulless eyes fixed on vacancy.
“I am sorry to see you like this,” I mumbled, hardly knowing what I was saying.
The eyes painfully focused and at last I saw recognition in them. A shudder shook his frame.
“Ah, Parker! It was good of you to come. I am afraid you find me much changed.”
I clasped the feeble hand held out to me and sat down at his side, conscious that Solar Pons and the Inspector had silently taken seats at the other side of the desk. I looked across at Jamison.
“He has been medically examined?”
“Of course, doctor. Our man found him incoherent and wandering in his mind. He is confused about yesterday’s events, though that is natural enough.”
Jamison drew his lips into a thin, straight line.
“He is sane enough to stand trial if that is what you were thinking,” he said grimly.
Solar Pons leaned forward at the table and tented his thin fingers before him.
“We shall see, Jamison,” he said crisply.
He fixed Tregorran with his penetrating eyes.
“Just tell us what happened yesterday in your own words and be as accurate and precise as possible as to detail.”
Tregorran shook his head with a wan smile.
“That is just it, Mr. Pons. My mind is an absolutely confused blank. When the police told me I was accused of murdering Sylvia it was not only an appalling shock but a patent absurdity.”
“Why do you say that, Mr. Tregorran?”
“Because it is the Gospel truth, Mr. Pons. My wife and I, after a period of great turbulence, were on quite amiable terms again. We were not living together, it is true; we both led separate lives and had done so for some time. But to say that I murdered her or that I even wanted to murder her is ridiculous!”
“Even in view of Miss Celia Thornton?” Jamison put in waspishly.
Tregorran turned white.
“You have seen her?”
Jamison nodded.
“We interviewed her last night. She did not deny that you had been intimate friends for some time.”
Solar Pons turned to the Inspector.
“Who is this lady, Jamison?”
The Inspector had a mocking expression in his eyes. “No doubt Mr. Tregorran can answer that, Mr. Pons.” Tregorran had a defiant expression on his face now. “It was no secret that my wife and I were at daggers drawn,