"Celia did, anyway. I think the Murder game upset her. I didn't care for it much myself, to tell you the truth."
"But the rest of you?"
"Margot and Derek and I came through this gallery here,"
Thorley moved his neck, "and up those little steps to the Blue Drawing Room. There was a big fire there, and a decanter of whisky. The—the room was decorated with holly, but we weren't going to put up the Christmas tree until next day."
Very distinctly, beyond the lamp-lit table between Thorley and Dr. Fell, Holden could see the faces of the others.
Of Sir Danvers Locke, aloof yet intensely watchful. Of Doris, flushed as though she were choking, so upset by recent experience that she could not have spoken if she had wanted to. Of Derek Hurst-Gore, lounging against the window wall beside him. And, above all, of Celia.
What in Satan's name was wrong with Celia? Why had she refused to see him? Why, even now, did she refuse to look at him? Why did there breathe from her, with that radiation which in one we love we can almost feel with a physical sense, the message of, "Keep away! Please keep away!"
And yet...
Something was being woven, something being spun, as Dr. Fell held Thorley fascinated. The spectral image bruit itself up: of Caswall's galleries dark and gusty cold, of dead Margot in her silver gown, and her two companions in white ties and tails, going up to a bright fire in a blue-paneled room where there would be a decanter of whisky.
"Yes, Mr. Marsh? And then?"
"I turned on the radio. It was singing carols."
"A very important question; and oblige me by not laughing at it. Were you drunk?"
"No! All of us were only... oh, all right! Yes! I was pretty tight"
"How tight?"
"Not blind, or anything like that But muzzy eyed, and uncertain, and hating everything. Liquor," said Thorley in a vague way, "always used to make me feel happy. It never does, now."
"What about your wife? That night I mean?"
"Margot’d knocked back quite a lot; but it didn't seem to affect her much, as it usually does. I mean—as it usually did."
"And Mr. Hurst-Gore?"
"Old Derek was pretty nearly blind. He started reciting Hamlet or something. I remember he said he hoped there wouldn't be a fire in the night because nobody would be able to wake him."
"And then?"
"There wasn't anything. Margot banged down her glass and said, ‘You two don't seem very happy; but I'm happy. Shall we turn in?' So we did."
"The bedrooms occupied by Celia Devereux and Mr. Hurst-Gore, I understand, weren't near your own suite?"
"No. They were at the other side of the house."
"Do you remember anything else about this time?" Dr. Fell's big voice grew even softer and more hypnotic. "Think! Think! Think!"
"I remember hearing Obey locking up front and back. It makes a devil of a racket with those bolts."
"Nothing else? When you and your wife reached your rooms? What then?"
"Margot opened the door of her bedroom and went in. I opened the door of my bedroom and went in. That's all"
"Did you exchange any words at this time?"
"No, no, no! Not a word!"
Thorley was not merely telling this; he was reliving it He was treading the misty steps of that night, his eyes fixed on it "And then?"
"I felt lousy," Thorley said. "It infuriates you, getting out of evening kit when you're tight You have to tear the collar off; you have to tear the shirt off. You stumble against things. I got my pyjamas on and sort of stumbled into the bathroom to clean my teeth."
"Into the bathroom. Was the door to your wife's bedroom, on the other side of the bathroom, open or closed?"
"It was closed and locked on her side."
"How do you know it was locked?"
"It always was."
'You cleaned your teeth. And then?" "I went back into my bedroom and slammed the door and went to bed. But that’s the trouble. I wasn't tight enough." "Go on!"
"It wasn't one of those nights where the bed swings around and you fly out into nowhere: dead asleep. I Just dozed heavily, and partly woke up, and dozed again. All confused. But I must have fallen off pretty heavily, because there seemed to be an interval. Then something woke me."
"What woke you? Think! Was it noise?"
"I don't know." Thorley, in a dream, shook his head. "Then I thought I heard Margot’s voice, sort of moaning and groaning and calling for help a long way off."
"Go on."
"I sat up and switched on the light I felt sick and headachy but a good deal more sober. It was two o'clock by the bedside dock. The voice moaning—it was awful. I climbed out of bed and went over and opened the bathroom door."
(Not a soul in that window embrasure moved, or even seemed to breathe.)
"Was the light on in the bathroom?"
"No, but I turned it on. The door to Margot's bedroom was wide open. Oh, yes! And while I'd been asleep, Margot’d taken a bath."
"She'd taken a bath?"
"Yes. There was a towel across the edge of the tub, and the floor was wet. God, how it annoyed me: that wet floor, and me in my bare feet! I went back and got my slippers, and came in again. Everything seemed quiet I looked into Margot’s bedroom."
Not a muscle or a fold of flesh moved in Dr. Fell's face or body. His propped elbow and pointing hand remained steady. Yet his eyes flashed round; moved with an unnerving furtive air, as though he were remembering and summing up. But the spell remained unbroken. Both their voices grew thicker, as Thorley walked back further and further into that night
"I looked into her bedroom. The light wasn't on, but I could tell she wasn't there." "Were the curtains drawn?"
"No; that's how I could tell she wasn't there. There was a little light from outside, stars or something. The bedspread was smooth and hadn't been touched. It was all quiet, and as cold as hell. Then the moaning and crying started again, so loud it nearly made me jump out of my skin. I saw the line of light under the door to her sitting room."
"Go on!"
Thorley spoke loudly and quickly.
"I opened the door. It was warm in there, with a fire still burning in the grate. All the wall lamps were burning too. A little way back from the middle of the room, with a table beside it, there's one of those chaise-longue things with cushions."
"Go on!"
"Margot was lying on it on her back, only a bit sideways. Her mouth sort of jabbered. I said, 'Margot!' but she just moaned and twisted; her eyes didn't open. I hoisted up her shoulders against the back of the chaise longue—she wasn't any lightweight—and her head fell forward. I shook her, but that wasn't any good either. Then I was really scared. I rushed back into the bathroom."
"Was the poison bottle in the medicine cabinet at that time?"
"No, it was gone. Margot must have . .." Dead silence.
Thorley realized what he had said. His voice stopped in midflight, faltered, slowly repeated, "must—have," and then trailed away. He stood there, shocked awake but petrified, his dark eyes glazed.
Dr. Fell let his arm fall on the table.
"So we perceive," Dr. Fell remarked, without satisfaction or even without any inflection at all, "that there had been in that cabinet a small brown bottle labeled poison. Just as Miss Devereux said."
Still nobody moved. On that group around the table, one of whom at least had been holding his breath until he felt suffocated, remained a strange and terrifying numbness. They seemed in a void, among the portraits of the Long Gallery.
"That was a trick," Thorley said. His voice rose. "A dirty, filthy trick!"
"No," returned Dr. Fell.
He laid down his crutch-handled stick across the glass top of the table.
"Sir," continued Dr. Fell, "I had reasons of my own for looking on you with an eye of extreme suspicion. If you had known of that brown bottle in the medicine cabinet, your first impulse at finding your wife in a dying condition would have been to rush back and look for the bottle. I—harrumph —merely led you to it You follow me?"