They rose at a step on the terrace stairs. The tall dark woman was descending with painful slowness, her eyes distended as if she were a victim of goiter. The handkerchief at her wrist was limp and soggy with tears.
“Come on down,” said Inspector Moley genially. “It’s all right now, Mrs. Godfrey. There’s just a few questions—”
She was looking for him, of that they were certain. Her bulging eyes swept from side to side, moved helplessly by a power stronger than herself. And she kept coming down in spurts of slowness, as if both reluctant and eager at the same time.
“He’s gone — al—” she began in an unsteady undertone.
“We’ve taken him away,” said the Inspector gravely. “Sit down.”
She groped for a chair. And she began slowly to rock, looking meanwhile at the chair in which John Marco had been sitting.
“You told me this morning,” began the Inspector, “that it was you who found Marco’s body on the terrace. You were wearing a bathing suit. Were you going down to the beach for a swim, Mrs. Godfrey?”
“Yes.”
Ellery said gently: “At six-thirty in the morning?”
She looked up at him with an expression of vacant surprise, as if she had just noticed him. “Why, you’re Mr. — Mr.—”
“Queen.”
“Yes. The detective. Aren’t you?” And she began to laugh. Suddenly she covered her face with her hands. “Why can’t you all go away,” she said with a muffled sob, “and let us alone? What’s done is done. He’s — dead, that’s all. Can you bring him back?”
“Would you,” asked Judge Macklin dryly, “want to bring him back, Mrs. Godfrey?”
“No, oh, good God, no,” she whispered. “Not for anything. It’s better this way. I... I’m glad he’s...” Then she took her hands from her face and they saw fear in her eyes. “I didn’t mean that,” she said quickly. “I’m upset—”
“At six-thirty in the morning, Mrs. Godfrey?” murmured Ellery, as if nothing had happened.
“Oh.” She shaded her eyes against the sun in a gesture of hopeless weariness. “Yes, that’s quite right. I’ve done it for years. I’m an early riser. I’ve never been able to understand women who lie in bed until ten and eleven o’clock.” She spoke vaguely, her thoughts apparently elsewhere. Then pain and awareness crept into her voice. “My brother and I—”
“Yes, Mrs. Godfrey?” prompted the Inspector eagerly.
“We generally came down together,” she whispered. “David is — was—”
“Is, Mrs. Godfrey. Until we learn differently.”
“David and I of-often went swimming together before seven. I’ve always loved the sea and David, of course, w-is athletic; he swims like a fish. We’re the only two in our family that way; my husband detests the water, and Rosa has never learned to swim. She had a bad scare as a child — almost drowned; and refused to learn after that.” She spoke dreamily, as if something veiled impelled her to the irrelevant explanation. Her voice broke. “This morning I went down alone—”
“You knew your brother was missing, then,” murmured Ellery.
“No, oh, no, I didn’t! I knocked at the door of his bedroom but there was no answer, so I thought he’d already gone down to the beach. I... I didn’t know he hadn’t been home all night. I retired early last night with a—” She paused, and a veil came over her eyes. “I wasn’t feeling well. Well, earlier than usual. So I didn’t know Rosa and David were missing. I went down to the terrace. Then I... I saw him there, sitting at that table in a cloak with his back turned to me. I said: ‘Good morning,’ or something as inconsequential, but he didn’t turn.” Her features were convulsed with horror. “I went past him, looked back at his face — something made me turn...” She shuddered and stopped.
“Did you touch anything — anything at all?” asked Ellery sharply.
“Heavens, no!” she cried. “I... I’d sooner have died myself. How could any one—” She shuddered again, her whole body shaking with repulsion. “I screamed. Jorum came running — Jorum is my husband’s man-of-all-work...
I think I fainted. The next thing I knew you gentlemen were here — the police, I mean.”
“Well,” said the Inspector. There was a large silence. She sat chewing the hem of her wet handkerchief.
Even in grief there was a youth, a springiness, in her body that belied Rosa; it seemed impossible that this woman should have a grown daughter. Ellery studied the curve of her slim waist. “By the way, Mrs. Godfrey. This swimming habit of yours. Does... er... weather deter you?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she murmured in dull surprise.
“You come down at six-thirty every morning for a dip, rain or shine?”
“Oh, that.” She tossed her head indifferently. “Of course. I love the sea in rainy weather. It’s warm and it... it prickles your skin.”
“The remark of a true hedonist,” said Ellery with a smile. “I know precisely how you feel. However, it didn’t rain last night so I fancy the whole matter’s irrelevant.”
Inspector Moley passed his hand over his lips and chin in a peculiar gesture. “Look here, Mrs. Godfrey, there’s no sense sparring around. A man’s been murdered who’s been a house-guest of yours, and people aren’t murdered just to put a little spice in a weekend. What do you know about this business?”
“I?”
“You invited Marco here, didn’t you? Or did your husband?”
“I... did.”
“Well?”
She raised her eyes to his; and her eyes were suddenly a perfect blank. “Well, what, Inspector?”
“Well!” Moley was growing angry. “You know what I mean. Who’s he been fighting around with? Who might have had a reason for bumping him off?”
She half-rose. “Please, Inspector. This is very stupid. I don’t snoop in my guests’ affairs.”
Moley checked himself, eying her narrowly. “Of course. I didn’t mean that you do. But something must have happened up here, Mrs. Godfrey; murder isn’t committed out of a clear sky.”
“So far as I know, Inspector,” she said tonelessly, “nothing has happened. Naturally, I can’t know everything.”
“Have you had any guests or visitors other than the people staying here now — I mean in the past couple of weeks?”
“No.”
“Nobody at all?”
“Nobody at all.”
“There’s been no quarrel here, with Marco either the subject or otherwise one of the people involved?”
Stella Godfrey lowered her eyes. “No... I mean, I haven’t heard of any.”
“Hmm! And you’re sure no one came here to see Marco?”
“As sure as any hostess can be. We don’t have unexpected visitors at Spanish Cape, Inspector.” There was dignity in her bearing now. “And as for skulkers, Jorum keeps rather close watch. If there’d been someone, I should have heard about it.”
“Did Marco receive much mail while he was here?”
“Mail?” She grew thoughtful at that, almost a little relieved, Ellery thought. “Come to think of it, Inspector, not much. You see, when the postman delivers the mail Mrs. Burleigh, my housekeeper, brings it all to me. I sort it, and Mrs. Burleigh distributes it either to the rooms of — of members of the family or to what guests we happen to be having. That’s the way I... I know. Mr. Marco” — her voice caught — “received only two or three letters in all the time he’s been here.”
“And how long,” asked Judge Macklin gently, “has he been here, Mrs. Godfrey?”
“All... summer.”
“Ah, a quasi-permanent guest! You knew him very well, then?” The Judge’s eyes pierced hers.
“I beg your pardon?” She blinked rapidly several times. “Quite well. That is, I... we came to know him quite intimately during the past few months. We had met him early this spring in the city.”