Ricky sprang forward.
"Mother, I want to present—"
"Of course. How delightful of you all to come!" smiled Aunt Cicely, sweeping aside introductions, new ones or forgotten ones, by giving each of them a look of such pleasure that they all felt warmed.
"You must forgive me," she raced on, "for popping in here, like a cuckoo out of a clock, and not even dressed. But I do so want to have a word with Sophia, and she didn't come upstairs."
Lady Brayle seemed anxious to forget what she and H.M. had been talking about
"We were merely discussing," said Jenny's grandmother, plucking a subject out of the air, "Dr. Lauder's interest in arms and armour. Come to think of it yesterday in the arms-room I saw a shield and a fine old English blade which I thought of commissioning someone to buy as a present"
Sudden horror showed in Aunt Cicely's eyes, an expression which startled Martin Drake until he imagined it was one of her exaggerations.
"But you must never…!" she cried. And them "Oh, dear, what am I saying? Dr. Laurier is so conservative that it really doesn't matter. Do come and talk to me."
They went. Yet not without a parting shot from the Dowager Countess as she turned at the door.
"Captain Drake," she said.
(Martin thought shall I let them have it now, both of them? About Jenny and me? Ricky probably wouldn't mind. But the old dragon undoubtedly knows or guesses already; whereas Aunt Cicely would sob and call for sal volatile. Better hold your fire until you can blast the old dragon).
"Yes?" he said.
"Without doubt" said Jenny's grandmother, "you were thinking of telephoning to the Manor?" "I was thinking of doing just that"
"When you ring," said Lady Brayle imperturbably, "you will be told that Jennifer is not at home. This, of course, you will disbelieve. Yet it happens to be true. I tell you so to save you trouble."
Fear, irrepressible however you tried, began to crawl through Martin.
"I pass no comment," said Lady Brayle, "on what does not concern me. Still, When Jennifer left the inn, I believe you were rushing in a somewhat frenzied manner across the road. You were calling the name of a young lady whom — all — I think I have met in the past as well as today."
The old dragon's eyes seemed deliberately to seek Ruth without finding her. Martin, with a sick sensation, felt the props kicked out from under him.
"Jennifer, no doubt for some good reason, wished to visit some friends in London. Their address would not interest you. She left for the train in one taxi, while I came here in another."
Now, as Lady Brayle looked very hard at his own imperturbability, there was a grudging respect in her tone.
"Captain Drake, I have little respect for law. I would cheerfully steal and if necessary I would kill. But I am not a liar. Good-day."
Her flat-heeled footsteps, and Aunt Cicely's light ones, faded away. Stannard still sat motionless, watching the scene with less than amusement behind the pyramid of his finger-tips. Ruth kept one hand pressed to her breast, watching Martin. It was Ricky who spoke.
"You understand now what I meant, old boy?"
"Yes. I've understood that all along."
"What are you going to do?"
"Get that address in London, somehow."
"Phooey!" exploded Sir Henry Merrivale.
It was such a bellow that they all were touched by it except Stannard. Ever since that remark about Martin rushing across the road after Ruth, Stannard had been faintly smiling. Sir Henry Merrivale was standing behind the desk, surveying the quill pen with its blue feather. Ricky went over to him.
"Look, sir." He spoke with directness. "There's a lot more going on here than most of us can understand. Can you help?"
"Well, son, that's just what I was goin' to tell you." H.M. raised his head and spoke with the same directness. "Across the road," he indicated, "there's a snake named Masters. Chief Inspector Masters."
"Yes. I heard my gov — my father's death was being investigated again. It's my mother I’m.. ’ H.M. shook his head.
"Masters wont bother your mother, son. He thinks it's all eyewash. I'm the one who believes there was hokey-pokey."
"It's a funny thing." Ricky had the same, desperately undecided look. "Today I was giving Jenny and Martin here my personal reminiscences of what happened on the day of— well, the day it happened."
H.M.’s interests quickened, "So? You remember it?"
"Very plainly; but by fits and starts. Anyway, in telling them, I had just got to the point where Miss Upton and I came round, the side of the house and saw him lying there with the tapestry-piece over his head. Then, as I told them, we started back. And I looked up at a window, the upstairs window on the first floor just to the right of the front door."
"You'd just got to there," interposed Martin. "What did you see?"
"The face," answered Ricky, "of somebody I'd never met The face of a total stranger. Looking down like God. Even this afternoon I might have imagined I'd invented it, if I couldn't half-swear I've met the same man in this room."
Ricky swung round.
"Excuse me, Mr Stannard," he added, "but I think it was you."
Stannard's black eyes twinkled above the pyramided fingertips. He smiled, and Ruth smiled as one who shared the secret
"Don't apologize, Mr. Fleet" the barrister urged him. "What you say is quite true. You did see me."
H.M. regarded him curiously. "So!" he muttered., "Then why is it there's nothin' about you in the record?"
"Because there is no reason why there should be."
"How d'ye mean?"
"I came down here, for one day, on a matter of business." "Specifically?"
"Sir George wished to begin certain legal proceedings. He went to a solicitor in London, who hesitated and took counsel's opinion: meaning myself. I told the solicitor his client had no.case. Would that do for Sir George? Oh, no. I must come down here and explain why. Being the rawest of young juniors then," Stannard spread out his hands whimsically, "I bowed."
"Uh-huh. What happened then?"
Stannard's eyes narrowed. His voice appeared to come from deep in his soft collar, where his chin was pressed. He glanced up at Ricky.
"If memory serves," he remarked, "that window yon speak of is, or was, the window of your father's study."
"It's still a study, in a way," said Ricky. Ricky's eyes were fixed on Stannard with hard, cold, uncompromising, hostility. "The governor's trophies are still there, and one or two of mine. And the guns."
"Go on," H.M.'s very soft tone prodded Stannard, and the hitter's shoulders lifted.
"Sir George raved," he went on, and now Ricky was pale with anger. "I talked. Some one came in to tell him about the hunt He asked me if I were interested in hunting. I replied, I fear with truth, that nothing on earth interested me less. He took up a pair of field-glasses and excused himself to go up on the roof for a few minutes. Shortly afterwards I beard a shout and an unpleasant sound on flagstones. I went to the window."
The old, friendly, engaging expression kindled Stannard's face.
"Don't think me callous or unfeeling, I beg. I was shocked, of course. What struck me," his mouth twisted, "was the utter pointlessness of this tragedy. I stood there for perhaps five minutes. The dead man's pipe was still spilled on the desk-blotter. There were his guns behind folding glass cases. Then round the house came the large woman and the boy: that I remember as a symbol. The large woman and the grubby boy looking on horrified, looking on stupefied, as though they had seen the end of the world. Whereas they had seen the end only of (forgive me) an overbearing man who would be little missed."