"How can you be so awful?" shuddered Camilla. "How you can joke about it -! When one thinks of poor Sir Arthur, and all these ghastly policemen spying on us, and everything, it's enough to make one go quite mad!"
"You should think of others, Mrs. Halliday. It is very nice for the local police to have something else to do besides having me up for what they call dangerous driving."
"The locals!" ejaculated Geoffrey. "I could put up with them, but when it comes to having a damned nosey inspector down from Scotland Yard, behaving as though the place belonged to him, it's a bit thick!"
Francis regarded the tip of his cigarette. "Dear me!" he said. "So Scotland Yard has been called in has it? How unnerving for you! And where, by the way, is Fay? Prostrate, I suppose. It is too much to hope that Dinah is still here? Perhaps Dinah committed the murder, she is so strong-minded."
"Dinah is in the fortunate position of being perhaps the one person who couldn't possibly have done it," said Guest.
"Oh no, she is not!" said Camilla hotly. "I daresay you'd all of you like to put it on to me or Basil, and you needn't think I haven't eyes, because I have! Your precious Dinah hasn't got any better alibi than I have. And why anyone should want her to be here still is more than I can imagine. Bossing everybody, and trying to monopolise the Inspector, and going on as though she was the person capable of doing anything!"
"From what I know of Dinah, and from what I can see of the rest of you , always excepting Stephen, of course , I should imagine that she is," replied Francis. "Perhaps she will be able to tell me whether I condole with Fay or just tactfully say nothing. It is so awkward, isn't it? I'll go and find her." With which affable speech he walked into the house leaving Camilla to exclaim that thought his manner quite odd, and Geoffrey to break forth into a bitterly expressed opinion of his persona, impudence, and conceit.
Miss Fawcett was not far to seek. As Francis strolled into the hall she was standing at the foot of the staircase conferring with Finch.
"Well, beloved?" said Francis. "I hear you have a perfect alibi. I should have guessed it anyway, from your face of conscious rectitude."
"Hullo, Francis!" said Dinah casually. "But, Fin. I'm what sort of a person?"
"A Hebrew person, miss, to my way of thinking. He states that Miss de Silva asked him to call."
"It sounds to me like a reporter," said Dinah. "Where have you put him?"
"In the morning-room, miss. Shall I take his card to Miss de Silva's room, or would you wish to see him yourself?"
"I don't know. What do you think, Francis? Finch says a man has turned up asking for Lola. Only we're having such a god-forsaken time keeping the press out that I feel a bit suspicious."
"Who is he?" asked Francis, picking the visiting-card up from the tray Finch held. "Mr. Samuel Lewis. Unknown to me, I fear."
"Permit me to introduce myself!" said a rich and cheerful voice. "Samuel Lewis, always at your service!"
They looked quickly round. A stout gentleman in a navy blue suit and a satin tie had come out of the morning-room, and was advancing upon them. He had a somewhat Jewish cast of countenance, several gold sloppings in his teeth, which made his wide smile quite dazzling, a handsome ring on his finger, and a pearl pin in his tie. He held out his hand to Dinah, and clasped hers with reverent fervour. "Lady Billington-Smith, I presume. Allow a stranger to offer you his deepest sympathy, madam! And Mr. Billington-Smith! A sad loss, sir: believe me, I feel for you."
"Thank you so much," said Francis. "But I'm not the man you think me. Nor, to be strictly accurate, is this Lady Billington-Smith. We are, alas, quite insignificant persons."
"I'm happy to meet you, sir," said Mr. Lewis. "This is a terrible business. When I got Lola's letter I said to myself at once: This won't do. Definitely No. That is my view, and I don't fancy I shall change it. So you need have no fear of me at all. You'll set your minds at rest right now. Your interests are mine." He turned, and laid a hand on the outraged Finch's shoulder. "Now, you'll trot straight up to Miss de Silva's room, my man, and you'll say to her that Sam Lewis is right here."
"I think perhaps you'd better, Finch," said Dinah chokingly.
Mr. Lewis regarded her with sympathy. "On your nerves a little? I understand. A loving husband and a fond father done to death under his own roof while at hand the light-hearted guests, all unthinking of the great tragedy being enacted, pursue their innocent amusments. What a story! Double columns, I give you my word, and pictures on the front page. But it must not be. That is my verdict. Now I'll tell you something, and believe me what Sam Lewis doesn't know about the publicity racket you can-put into a match-box and throw into the incinerator." He drew closer to Francis, and tapped him on the chest with one stubby forefinger. "Get a hold on this," he said impressively. "What will make you a top-liner in France, with your name in electric signs six foot high, may land you into the first turn in a third-rate music-hall show in England, with people getting into their seats, and fumbling for sixpence for the programme while you're doing your stuff. Take it from me, sir, that's the solid truth. I know what you're going to say. And I tell you, me, Sam Lewis, that you're wrong. Definitely wrong. Glamour's O.K. I'm not saying it isn't. But the public's a ticklish thing. You want to get your fingers on its pulse. That's where mine is, and that's where I'm keeping it. Right on the Public Pulse. And this is what I'm telling you: what the English Public wants is, Sentiment. It sees La Lola in her Apache Dance with Greg Lamley. It's a riot. But God bless you, do you suppose the Public wants to think of Lola as the Girl in the last Murder Case? No, sir! Wash that right out. You've got the Public wrong. It wants to think of Lola being a Wife and Mother off the stage, just the same ar you or I might be."
"Hardly, I feel," murmured Francis.
"And that," said Mr. Lewis, paying no heed to this interruption, "is why I say we've got to hush this up. If it had happened in any other country I could have used it. But it's gone and happened in England, and it's no use crying over spilt milk: we can't use it."
At this moment Finch came downstairs, and said rigidly: "Miss de Silva desires you to go up to her room, sir. This way, if you please."
"I'll be right with you," said Mr. Lewis. He beamed upon Dinah, besought her to rely on him, and followed Finch up the stairs.
Inspector Harding, entering the house three minutes later, found Miss Fawcett clinging to the banisters in a hopeless fit of giggles, while a slim and handsome young man, who was propping his shoulders against the wall, regarded her with a world-weary but tolerant eye.
"You've g-got the Public wrong, F-Francis!" gasped Miss Fawcett.
"Possibly, but I have hidden potentialities of a domestic nature, may I remind you?" He became aware of Inspector Harding, and turned his head. "How do you do? I regret that I don't know who you are, but pray come in."
Dinah looked up. "Oh, hullo!" she said. "I'm not having hysterics: it's only Lola's manager, or whatever he is. He says we've got to hush it up."
"I should think you'll have some difficulty in doing that," replied Harding. "If someone has arrived to see Miss de Silva, he's her press-agent, I imagine. She told me she had sent for him." He looked in his grave, considering way at Francis. "Captain Billington-Smith?"
"The correct answer is, I believe, that you have the advantage of me," said Francis.
Dinah pulled herself together. "This is Mr. Harding, Francis."
"How nice!" said Francis, shaking hands. "Ought that to enlighten me?"
"Inspector Harding of Scotland Yard," explained Dinah.
"Really?" Francis's brows rose in surprise. "That certainly didn't occur to me."
There was a light footfall on the stairs; Fay cane round the bend, and stood looking down into the hall. For the first time since the discovery of her husband's murder there was a tinge of colour in her face, some shadow of eagerness in her wide eyes. "Is that the Inspector? You've been to the bank? I — I was right wasn't I? Please tell me what they said!"