Finch thought it over. "I sent Charles up to fetch down the Captain's suitcase," he mused. "That would have been at about half past ten. Now I come to think of it, it was half past ten, sir, for Charles was, as you might say, hanging around, waiting for the Captain, and he happened to pass the remark to me -" He stopped, and gave a deprecatory cough. "Well, sir, he drew my attention to the time, him having his regular work to get on with."
Harding looked at Francis. "Do you agree with that estimate of the time, Captain Billington-Smith?"
"I always agree on trivial points," replied Francis. "It saves trouble."
"That's all, then, thank you," said Harding, nodding dismissal to Finch. "Now that we have succeeded in establishing that fact, I want to know when you arrived in London, please."
"Hope seems to spring eternal in your breast. Inspector. I'm tempted to give you a probably erroneous but definite answer -just to please you."
"I shouldn't," said Harding. "Was it before lunch or after?"
"After. Early afternoon." He met the Sergeant's intent gaze, and raised one slender hand. "I know exactly what you are thinking, my very dear friend. We have met before, have we not? You are quite right: it would have been much more like me to have made London in time for lunch. Such was the general intention. Fate, however, one puncture, and one clogged jet decreed otherwise. The memory of that drive is still rather painful."
"Did you stop for lunch on the road?" asked Harding.
"I ate an extremely disgusting meal at the Stag, at Bramhurst."
"Bramhurst!" ejaculated the Sergeant. "Bramhurst's no more than a matter of forty miles from here, sir!"
"I am quite aware of that, thank you. You will probably cover the distance much quicker than I did. The garage that had my distinguished patronage, by the way, is the big one on the right as you drive down the main street. Not the one on the left, remember; they won't know anything about me there."
"How long did it take you to cover those forty miles?" inquired Harding.
"Do I subtract the time spent changing a flat tyre, and tinkering with the plugs?"
"From door to door, please."
"Two hours," said Francis, putting out the stub of his cigarette.
"Do you say that from conviction, Captain Billington-Smith, or to gratify me?"
"My felicitations, Inspector: you are becoming quite human. From conviction. I had the curiosity to look at my watch. I arrived at Bramhurst at half past twelve. I can even tell you what I had for lunch."
"I don't think I'll trouble you to do that, thank you. Are you staying here for the inquest, may I ask?"
"Oh, I think so, certainly. I shouldn't like to miss anything," said Francis.
"Then I won't keep you any longer now," said Harding, rising to his feet.
The Sergeant opened the door for Francis to pass out, and shut it carefully behind him. He waited for several seconds before he spoke, as though to be sure that Francis was out of earshot, and then he said emphatically: "That's the queerest story we've heard yet, sir and we haven't half heard some fishy ones. Him take two hours to cover forty miles? Yes, I wish I may live to see it. That's all I say, sir, I wish I may live to see it!"
"All right, Sergeant. We'll talk it over while we have lunch."
"Yes, sir," said the Sergeant, still brooding. "What's more, I don't believe he had a puncture nor a dirty jet either."
"Well, you'll be able to verify that," said Harding. "I'm going to send you off to Bramhurst this afternoon. Nor, let's go back to Ralton and have lunch."
Lunch at the Grange was a somewhat constrained meal. The presence of Mr. Lewis, whom Lola had commanded to remain, made it impossible for Geoffrey to tell his cousin that he believed not one word of his story, and even prevented Camilla from indulging in her usual free-spoken recapitulation of all that she had felt since she had heard of poor Sir Arthur's murder. Fay did not appear in the dining-room at all; Dinah was wrestling with inward giggles; Mr. Tremlowe ate and drank in almost complete silence, occasionally casting a cold and disapproving glance at the voluble Mr. Lewis; Halliday confined his conversation to an exchange of views on Disarmament with Stephen Guest; and Francis laid himself out to annoy every one by being extremely agreeable to Mr. Lewis.
Lola, who was still wearing the trailing black frock, and had brushed her hair in two sleek wings framing her face, seemed to be satisfied with the result of Mr. Lewis's visit. "It is seen that my picture must not go into the papers," she announced. "I am very reasonable, and I do not make further objection."
Mr. Lewis patted her hand. "That's a good girl," he approved. "You trust Sam's judgment, and you'll never go wrong.
"If I did not trust you, I should not any longer permit you to arrange my affairs," said Lola. "And that reminds me that after lunch you must tell this Inspector, who is, I think, not altogether a fool, that I will not be arrested for murdering Sir Arthur, since it is not after all good publicity, but on the contrary, very bad. Besides," she added thoughtfully, "you would not like me to be arrested, would you, Geoffrey?"
"I don't mind what you do," said Geoffrey. "I mean, no, of course I don't want you to be arrested, but it's your own affair, not mine."
"But certainly it is your affair, my dear Geoffrey," said Lola. "And you must let me tell you that I have been very patient, because I have much sympathy, but it becomes absurd, the way you are behaving."
Francis surveyed his cousin benignly. "How is love's young dream? You must tell me, Lola, what you would like me to give you for a wedding-present."
Mr. Lewis wagged his finger admonishingly. "Now now, now!" he begged. "I've been talking to Lola about this marriage racket, and believe me I haven't finished yet. Don't get me wrong: I'm not against marriage. I'm a believer in it. It's a good thing — in its place." He nodded affably at Geoffrey. "I know just how you feel, Mr. Billington-Smith, but you've got to look at it from Lola's angle. You want to call her yours, but you've got to remember -"
"No, I don't," interrupted Geoffrey, choking over a piece of salad.
"Well, well, that's what you say," said Mr. Lewis tolerantly, "but I guess we all know what a young husband gets like when he's won a peach like Lola here for his bride. Don't we, sir?" he added, taking Mr. Tremlowe suddenly into his confidence.
"I fear I cannot give an opinion," replied Mr. Tremlow icily.
Geoffrey had swallowed the salad by this time. "I may as well tell you, Mr. — er — Lewis, that my faith in women is absolutely shattered."
"Now, you don't want to take it like that," said Mr. Lewis kindly. "Lola's got a duty to herself and the public. She's young. She's a top-liner. Supposing she was to marry you, right now, at the height of her career? Do you know what it would be? It would be a downright sin!"
"Yes, I quite agree, and I've already told her I don't want to marry her."
Francis turned his head. "But how clever of you, Geoffrey!" he said. "All broken off, is it?"
"It is not in the least broken off!" said Lola firmly. "Naturally I could not marry him when he had not any money, for that would have been a great piece of folly, but now he will have a fortune, and we can be married at once. Let me remind you, my dear Geoffrey, that on Monday you wanted so much to marry me that you became like a madman."
"Don't distress yourself, dear Lola," said Francis. "I feel quite sure that if you wait till all these tiresome policemen have gone away, you know he will once more wish to marry you."
Geoffrey started up. "What the devil do you mean?" he shouted.
Dinah said fiercely: "Shut up, Francis! Can't you stop trying to make mischief, just for half an hour? Sit down, Geoffrey: don't be drawn, you ass!"