Dr. Fell's eyes were wide open again, in a blank and rather creepy stare which to Doris Locke, who for some reason had stood in awe of this huge apparition ever since his entrance, seemed terrifying. Doris's own eyes were wide and innocent now, like a small girl's. Her hand crept up to find Thorley's as he sat on the arm of the chair.
"Now we come," said Dr. Fell, "to Mrs. Marsh's behavior on that night Sir Danvers, how should you describe her behavior?"
Locke hesitated. "I—er—don't quite follow the question."
"Her state of mind, sir! Before she went home from the mock murder to the real murder. Eh?"
"In terms of the old-fashioned theater," answered Locke thoughtfully, "I should say Mrs. Marsh behaved like a tragedy queen."
"Aha! But did she look as though, in the words of one witness, she had 'come to a decision about something?'"
"Yes! Now you mention it: yes."
"Do you agree with that Mr. Marsh?"
"Confound it!" complained Thorley. He had reached down to touch Doris's hair, but he drew back as though conscious of an impropriety. "Margot was always like that! I told Don Holden so last night Overhearty!"
"Overexcited about that man," muttered Doris.
Dr. Fell's eyes flashed open. "I beg your pardon?"
"I didn't say anythingl" breathed Doris, jumping violently. "Really and truly I didn't!"
"Harrumph. Well." (It was impossible, from that vast pink face with the lopsided eyeglasses, to tell whether Dr. Fell had heard.) "But can you confirm these versions of Mrs. Marsh's behavior, Miss Locke?"
"I'm afraid," said Doris, lifting one shoulder, "I can't help you there. I wasn't interested. I scarcely noticed the woman all evening."
(Be careful, you little fool! thought Holden. Be careful!) Of course," added Doris instantly, before Dr. Fell could speak, "I did 'murder' her in that game. But it was simply because she was the person handiest. You couldn't help spotting that silver gown in the dark."
Holden intervened just as quickly.
"That's it, Doris!" he said. "It was a silver dress, wasn't it? You do remember that? Naturally! As a woman would!"
"Ye-esl" Doris seemed relieved. "Naturally!"
Dr. Fell looked at Thorley. "Do you agree about the dress, Mr. Marsh?'
"I suppose so," Thorley said half-humorously. "I never notice what a woman is wearing. Dr. Fell; and I'D bet a fiver you don't either. You can tell whether it becomes 'em, or whether it doesn't; in either case you can't think why, so you let it go at that But—"
"But?"
"Well! I do seem in a kind of a way to remember that silver thing without shoulders, because it was so conspicuous. Margot—Margot looked worse in that death mask of Mrs. Thompson than she looked after she was dead."
And a shiver went through his bulky body.
"I see," said Dr. Fell. "Now your own party, as I understand it—yourself, Mrs. Marsh, Miss Devereux, and Mr. Hurst-Gore—left Widestairs at about eleven o'clock?"
"Yes!"
"At that time your wife still seemed in excellent health?"
"Yes. Full of beans."
"Dr. Fell!" interposed Locke very softly.
"Hey? What's that?"
"At risk of being rebuked again," said Locke, with his finger tips together, "I am a little disturbed by those words 'still seemed.' Are you implying that this poison, whatever it was, might have been administered in my house?"
"That," admitted Dr. Fell, "is a possibility we must consider. And yet"—there was a faint roar under his voice, and he puffed out his cheeks and let his fists fall on the table— "no, no, no! In that case, the effect of the poison in question must have come on at a far earlier time." "Ah!" said Locke serenely.
"But it suggests another point Did Mrs. Marsh by any chance come over to your house that same afternoon? Before the Murder game?"
A faintly startled expression came into Locke's eyes; then it was gone.
"Yes! As a matter of fact, she did."
"Oh, ah? For what purpose?"
"Presumably," smiled Locke, "to say hello. They'd just driven down from London, you know. Ah, no! One moment I remember now. She said she wanted to see her husband." He seemed puzzled; troubled. 'Yes. Her husband."
"Did she see him?"
"No. Our friend Marsh was out at the trout stream with Doris, where I believe he performed prodigies by walking across a log with his eyes shut." Locke's beautifully modulated voice gave an (somewhat ironic?) account of the incident "Mrs. Marsh, I remember, asked my wife and myself to send him home soon; she said she wished to speak to him urgently."
For a long moment Dr. Fell stared at Locke. Then his shaggy head swung round.
"And this (harrum!) this urgent message. What was it, Mr. Marsh?"
"It wasn't anything!" protested Thorley. "I keep telling you, over and over, Margot was like that! She—"
"Sir," interrupted Dr. Fell, "was it to ask you for a divorce?"
Long pause.
(Divorce? Holden was thinking. Divorce? Margot? Nonsense! But wait! If this suggestion of Margot Devereux having a lover were true—as Doris insisted and even Celia had suspected—that altered everything. Margot might have put up with any kind of unhappy home life rather than the alternative of divorce. But if she happened to fall violently in love, and wanted to marry: yes, that altered everything.)
"I regret the necessity for repeating the question," said Dr. Fell, who was genuinely distressed. "But was it to ask you for a divorce?"
"No," replied Thorley, with his eye on a corner of the window embrasure.
"In that case, sir, I must go into matters that will be painful and embarrassing. You are aware," Dr. Fell touched the envelope on the table, "of certain statements made by Celia Devereux?"
'Yes. God knows I am"
"That on one occasion you were seen to slash your wife across the face with a razor strap?" "Yes!" cried Thorley. "But that was only—" "Only what?"
Statement and question were flung at each other with such quickness that they seemed to clash like physical forces.
Dr. Fell had partly surged up, the ridges of his waistcoat jarring out the table with a scratch of wood and a rattle of the red-shaded lamp. But he did not seem to be towering or threatening: only, in a curious way, imploring. Thorley had slid off the chair arm and stood up.
"Only what, Mr. Marsh?"
"Only a lie," said Thorley. "Only a lie."
Dr. Fell sank back, a mountain of dejection.
"And that on another occasion, because of your conduct, your wife attempted to kill herself by swallowing strychnine?"
"That’s a lie too."
The grisly story was pouring out now. Locke and his daughter sat as though paralyzed.
"And that, on the night your wife died, there was a bottle labeled poison in the medicine cabinet of your joint bathroom?"
"There never was any such bottle, so help me!"-"And that—"
"Stop," said Thorley. His hand went to his collar, running a finger around inside it; then he cleared his throat, and spoke in a perfectly normal voice. "I've had enough," he added. "I've had more than any man can take."
‘Yes?" said Dr. Fell.
"Look here, sir." Thorley addressed Dr. Fell, though a little breathlessly, with his quiet and easy charm. "These charges against me are all guff. What's more, I can prove they're all guff at any time I like. I haven't done it up to now, I've put up with everything, because I wanted to be decent. That’s finished."
And then, just when as a man cornered and down-and-out he had the utter sympathy of nearly everyone there, the illusion was shattered. Thorley's tone changed.
"By God," he said, "I've had enough of a family with one ice-cold daughter and one crazy daughter. As for this house, I hope it rots. Those pictures over there," he gestured toward the wall behind him, "let them do something about it; as Celia says they can. I've liked Celia. I've done my best for Celia. I've put up with it when she's told me these things in private. But, from now on, just let her dare say the same things in front of anyone else! Just let her dare do it!"