"Of course I'll tell you, Lady Billington-Smith." Harding replied gently. "Will you come into the study for a moment?"
She came down at once, and passed without hesitation into the study, where Mr. Tremlowe was packing the contents of the safe into a leather satchel. She hardy seemed to notice Francis; her attention was all for Harding. Almost before he had shut the door she repeated: "Wasn't I right?"
"You were exactly right," answered Harding. "Your husband drew two hundred and fifty pounds out of thc bank on Monday morning."
Mr. Tremlowe removed his spectacles, and carefully wiped them. "That is very interesting, Inspector," he said. "Two hundred and fifty pounds, you say. H'm!"
Fay said quickly: "It proves it was robbery, doesn't it — if my husband didn't pay any bills that morning? Don't you think it does, Inspector?"
"Not quite, I'm afraid. I am having the numbers of the missing notes circulated, but until they are traced -"
"Forgive me," said Francis, "but do you think I might be told what has happened?"
"Arthur drew two hundred and fifty pounds out on Monday, and there was only one hundred and twenty pounds found in the safe when Mr. Tremlowe opened it today," explained Dinah tersely.
"Arithmetic is not my strongest point," said Francis. "Would somebody work it out for me?"
"The difference," said Harding, "is one hundred and thirty pounds."
"I thought it was." Francis strolled over to the desk, and stubbed out the end of his cigarette in the brass ash-tray there. "I don't think you need bother to circulate the numbers, Inspector. I rather imagine I have the missing notes."
Chapter Fifteen
An astonished silence greeted this casual announcement. Only the Inspector continued to steadily to watch Francis, without betraying either surprise or suspicion.
"Or, rather," added Francis, still in a conversational voice of unconcern, "I had them yesterday. Since then they have, to my regret, changed hands."
"This is very extraordinary," pronounced Mr. Tremlowe.
"Yes, that was what I thought," agreed Francis.
"I must ask you to explain a little more fully, pleas. Captain Billington-Smith," said Harding.
"Certainly," said Francis. "One hundred and thirty pounds was the precise sum I asked my uncle for on Monday morning." His glance flickered to Dinah's face. "No, my sweet, he did not give it to me. He was not in the mood. Geoffrey had been so tactless, hadn't he?"
"Was your need of that exact sum urgent, Captain Billington-Smith?" interposed Harding.
"Decidedly. A debt of honour. Isn't that delightfully old-world? But my cousin Geoffrey had been inconsiderate enough to enrage his father. It was stupid of me to approach him at that moment, of course. I quite thought that between us my cousin and I had queered the financial pitch for some little time to come. However, my uncle apparently relented sooner than I had expected. I received notes to the value of one hundred and thirty pounds yesterday morning."
"How did you receive them, Captain Billington-Smith?"
"Oh, most thankfully!" replied Francis.
"I am afraid you don't understand me," said Harding, a hint of steel in his pleasant voice. "I will put it quite plainly. Through what medium did you receive the notes?"
"The medium of the post," answered Francis.
"Registered post?"
"No, in a plain envelope."
"Did it not strike you as strange that your uncle should send such a considerable sum to you in that manner?"
"To tell you the truth, Inspector, I was too much taken up with the contents to think about the envelope."
Fay spoke, in a queer, harsh voice. "Arthur would never have done such a thing! I know he wouldn't. I am positive that he wouldn't."
"My very dear Fay," said Francis silkily, "you mustn't think I don't appreciate your motive, but in your anxiety to lead suspicion away from Stephen you mustn't overdo it, you know. You will only defeat your own ends."
"I have no ends," Fay said breathlessly. "If Arthur had sent you the money you wanted it would have been by cheque. He would not have taken it out of the household expenses."
Francis looked her over with bland contempt. "Don't let's beat about the bush, darling," he said. "And dont worry about my feelings either. Are you suggesting that I murdered Uncle for the sake of one hundred and thirty pounds?"
"I didn't say that! But I know he wouldn't have sent the money like that."
Harding moved over to the door, and opened it. "I think, Lady Billington-Smith, that it will be best if I talk to your nephew alone," he said.
Mr. Tremlowe picked up his satchel, and once more removed his spectacles. "Come, my dear lady," he said "The Inspector will do better without us." Fay lingered for a moment, her eyes on Francis. "I'm sorry, Francis. I didn't mean that. But it wasn't Arther who sent you those notes."
"Come on!" said Dinah briefly, and took her out.
Francis lit another cigarette, and flicked the dead match into the grate. He gave a slight laugh. "Poor little Fay!" he remarked.
Harding paid no heed to this, but said abruptly: "This plain envelope that you say the notes were sent in,
Captain Billington-Smith: was it addressed to you in your uncle's handwriting?"
"It was," said Francis.
"Did it contain anything but the notes? Any letter that you can produce?"
Francis inhaled a long breath of smoke before he answered. "Just a slip of paper telling me he had paid my debts for the last time. What an insight you must be getting into our family!"
"Did you keep this note?"
"I'm afraid I didn't. Thoughtless of me, but then I hadn't visualised the possibility of someone murdering the old man."
"By what post did you receive the notes?"
"By the first post. I imagine my uncle must have sent them off from Ralton when he went in to cash his cheque."
"In which case," said Harding, "it is rather surprising that the letter didn't reach you by the last post on Monday, isn't it?"
"Oh, is it?" replied Francis, mildly interested. "I expect you're right, but I've always found the post from Ralton wonderfully irregular."
"You are probably more familiar with it than I am," said Harding. "When were you first aware of your uncle's death?"
"Last night, when Tremlowe rang me up."
"At what hour was that?"
"I've no doubt he could tell you, if you really want to know. I should say it was at about half past ten but I may easily be wrong. Is it so important?"
"It is not very important," explained Harding, "but I am wondering why you did not acknowledge receipt of the money?"
Francis stretched out his hand towards the ash-tray and tapped his cigarette over it. "I said you were getting an insight into the family peculiarities," he said. "An inability to answer letters by return of post is one of them. Is there anything else I can tell you?"
"Several things, Captain Billington-Smith. At what time did you leave this house on Monday morning?"
"I'm led to wonder," said Francis reflectively, "whether you of the Police Force invariably time all your actions? I don't."
"In fact, you don't know when you left the house?"
"I haven't an idea. Somewhere round about eleven. I should imagine."
Harding stepped back to the the wall, and pressed the electric bell. Francis watched him with cynical amusement. "I admire your painstaking attention to detail Inspector."
"Yes," said Harding. "We have to be painstaking in my profession." He sat down in the swivel-chair, and drew out his pocket-book, and made a note in it. When the butler came in answer to the bell, he looked up. "Finch. do you know at what time Captain Billington-Smith left this house on Monday morning?"