“You mean they come into this, too?”
“I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Charles Purvis grasped the balustrade of the staircase. “This is all getting very complicated, Inspector.”
“On the contrary,” said Sloan. “It’s getting simpler and simpler all the time. I now know what Mr. Hamilton should be looking for in the Muniments Room. Crosby…”
“Sir?”
“Assemble everyone in the Private Apartments, please, while I see The Young Masters and the Archivist.”
Though it was teatime there was nothing of the drawing-room tea party about the gathering in the Private Apartments now. True, people were drinking tea, but they were drinking it thirstily because they needed it. They were not eating at all because they were not hungry.
The only person, in fact, to touch the food, noted Sloan, had been Cousin Gertrude. With her, the shock over William Murton’s death had taken a different form. She had forgotten to take off the gardening apron in which she had been doing the flowers. A pair of scissors poked out of the apron pocket and a piece of twine drooled down the front.
William Murton’s death had driven the Countess to even greater heights of absentmindedness. She was pouring tea as if her life depended on it, but the hand that held the teapot shook so much that as much tea went in the saucer as in the cup. Dillow made one or two deft attempts to field the wavering stream, but in the end he went away for more hot water and clean saucers.
Mr. Adrian Cossington was very much taking a back seat, but Laura Cremond had been badly affected by the news. She was sitting—unusually docile—beside Miles on a small chiffonier. Her face had a pinched, frightened look and she never took her eyes off Inspector Sloan’s face.
He and Crosby were seated near the door. If he leaned a fraction to his right, Sloan could see through the window and down to the main door of the house. There were two figures in blue standing where once footmen in powder had waited—only these two figures were policeman and their different duty was to let no one pass. There were other figures, too, at all the other exits from Ornum House, but only Sloan and Crosby knew this.
Mr. Ames had gone across to the Church, otherwise everyone was in the house.
Lady Eleanor looked as if she had been crying and Lord Henry as if his hand was hurting him. Dillow came back with more hot water for the Countess.
“I knew someone was going to die what with the Judge walking and everything,” said Cousin Gertrude gruffly. “Didn’t think it would be William though.”
“But why did it have to be William?” asked Lady Eleanor, a husky catch in her voice. “I know he was difficult and odd, but he wouldn’t have really harmed anyone…”
Inspector Sloan shuffled his notes. “I think, your Ladyship, that he came up to the house on Friday evening.”
“I didn’t see him.”
“Nobody saw him.”
“Well, then, how do you know…”
“I don’t know,” said Sloan, “but I think. I think he came up quietly round about the time you were all dressing for dinner.”
“Nobody much about then,” grunted the Earl.
“Exactly. It’s the one time when you could all be expected to be in your rooms.” He paused significantly. “A fact, incidentally, also appreciated by Osborne Meredith’s murderer.”
There was total silence in the room. The Countess stopped pouring tea and the silver teapot hovered, precariously suspended over a cup. Dillow was going to be lucky to escape scalding.
“But why did he come up like that in the first place?” Lord Henry wanted to know. “He was always welcome, you know. He wasn’t as bad a chap as you might think from talking to him. Didn’t do himself justice.”
“He might,” said Sloan cautiously, “have been in the habit—the bad habit—of coming up here without any of you knowing.”
The Earl cleared his throat. “Very true, Inspector. I think he did. Suspected it myself before now.”
“Harry!” That was the Countess. “You never told me.”
“No need, my dear. As Eleanor says, he was quite harmless.”
“But what did he do here?”
“Nothing, probably. Just have a look round.”
“And where did he go?”
The Earl gave his moustache a tug. “I expect the Inspector has guessed.”
Sloan nodded. “I think so, my lord. I think William Murton was in the habit—the bad habit—of slipping up into the room behind the peephole.”
“To see what he could see,” said Lord Henry slowly.
Sloan turned. “Yes, my lord. Somebody watched me from there this morning, but when I got up to the room they’d gone.”
“Not William surely?”
“No,” said Sloan. “That was somebody else watching me.” Now he knew who that had been, too. There had been two people in the vicinity to choose from.
“William saw something on Friday,” concluded Lady Eleanor shakily.
“Something nasty,” put in Cousin Gertrude, winding twine round her finger.
“Something very nasty,” agreed Sloan. “I think he saw someone carrying the body of Osborne Meredith across the Great Hall to the armoury staircase.”
“How very clever,” observed the Countess inconsequentially.
Her husband turned. “Clever, m’dear?”
“To choose the only time when we would none of us be about.” She smiled sweetly. “That means it must be someone who knows us really well, doesn’t it?”
Perhaps, thought Sloan, one could re-define an aristocrat as a man or woman to whom a fact held no terror.
“I think,” murmured the Earl, “we are already agreed on that.”
“It stands to reason anyway,” said Cousin Gertrude, that firmly entrenched spinster, who, having long ago abandoned feeling, was left only with logic.
Over on the chiffonier Laura Cremond stirred. “I don’t know how you can all just sit here without knowing.”
“Difficult, what?” agreed Miles.
“Perhaps,” said Lord Henry acutely, “the Inspector wants a little suspense.”
What, in fact, Sloan was waiting for was a message from the County Archivist, Mr. Robert Hamilton.
He got it quite soon.
P.C. Bloggs knocked on the door and handed him a note.
It was all he needed now.
18
« ^
Whether Sloan wanted any extra suspense or not he got it with the arrival at the door of the Private Apartments a moment or two later of Charles Purvis and a large genial man who introduced himself as Fortescue.
“Cromwell T. Fortescue of the Young Masters Art Society,” he said, “visiting your House by courtesy of Earl Ornum to see your beautiful pictures.”
The Countess seized another cup and began to pour wildly.
Charles Purvis followed him in and, noticed Sloan, manoeuvred himself into a position exactly opposite Lady Eleanor. It was obvious that he had long ago learned the lesson of the lovelorn, that you can sit opposite someone without seeming to stare whereas if you sit beside them you have to keep turning your head.
Which is noticeable.
The Earl grunted, “You’ve told him about Meredith, have you, Purvis?”
“Indeed, he has, milord,” responded Mr. Fortescue before Purvis could speak. “I am deeply sorry. The whole of our Society would wish to be associated with these sentiments, I know.”
“A message has arrived from Miss Meredith, too,” said Charles Purvis. “She’s seen an early edition of an evening paper and she’s coming back straightaway.”
“Poor dear,” said the Countess. “Charles, will you meet her at the station and see that she doesn’t need anything? She might like to come up here for the night.”
Sloan doubted it, but did not say so. In Miss Meredith’s position he’d have opted for his own little house, where you could at least count the rooms.