"Good gracious, you don't think Geoffrey did it?" gasped the Vicar's wife. "Oh, but that can't be so! Such a nice boy, and so delicate! And besides he couldn't have done it, for I saw him myself that morning, quite a long way from the Grange."
"You saw him?" said Camilla, stopping in front of a draper's window.
"Yes, I saw him on my way home. I wonder if I ought to tell the Inspector? I think it is my clear duty to find him, and tell him. I suppose he will be at the Grange, won't he?"
"You could just as easily tell them at the police station," said Camilla maliciously.
"No, Mrs. Halliday, I shall do no such thing. I hope I should never shirk what I know to be my duty, and I am quite aware that it is the Inspector who is in charge of the case. It's most inconvenient, for I have a great deal on my hands, but I always say one can make time if one wants to, and I shall call at the Grange on my way home. And at the same time I shall hope to have a little quiet talk with Lady Billington-Smith."
"I expect she'll love that," said Camilla. "I don't know when you saw Geoffrey, but I do know it would take a lot to convince me he didn't do it!"
The first person to reach the Grange after the inquest was Inspector Harding. He was admitted by the footman, and had hardly set foot inside the house when Miss Fawcett came running downstairs, and leaned over the banisters. "Is that you, Geoffrey?" she called. "What happened?"
"No, it's not Geoffrey," said Harding, walking forward. "Nothing much happened. We asked for an adjournment."
"You don't mean to say we've got to go on as we are?"
"Not for long, I hope."
"Oh, my giddy aunt!" groaned Miss Fawcett. "This is ceasing to be funny!"
Harding regarded her in some amusement. "Do tell me," he said, "is that how a murder generally strikes you?"
"Not the murder," explained Dinah. Just the , the general effect. When I joined this little house-party every one seemed more or less human. You ought to see us en famine now. More like a zoo than anything — "specially when Camilla starts screeching." She looked down at him from her superior elevation, and inquired with friendly interest: "What are you going to do now? Crawl round looking for footprints?"
"That was all done before I came," explained Harding gravely.
Miss Fawcett shook her head. "If you want a thing well done you should do it yourself," she said.
"I wish you'd come downstairs; I'm getting a crick in the neck," returned Inspector Harding.
"Surely," said Miss Fawcett with severity, "you didn't come here to waste time talking to me, Inspector?"
"Don't call me Inspector. I came to talk to Captain Billington-Smith, but I have an idea he hasn't yet come back from Silsbury."
"Deduction, I suppose?" said Dinah, cocking her head on one side.
"Pure deduction. I can't find his footprints. I wish you'd come down."
Dinah obeyed. "As a matter of fact he isn't back yet. He had to take Mr. Tremlowe to the station. Did you see him wending thither wards?"
"I didn't, but I saw him drive off with his cousin. So when you called, "Is that you, Geoffrey?" I leaped to the con — that is to say, I deduced that they hadn't yet arrived."
"What a loss you'll be to Scotland Yard when you start that chicken farm!" remarked Miss Fawcett admiringly.
"I shall, of course, but it can't be helped. I'd very nearly made up my mind this should be my last case when I first came down here. I'm quite decided now that it shall be."
"You mustn't let yourself get disheartened," said Miss Fawcett, firmly putting the conversation back on to a flippant basis. "For all you know you may suddenly hit on a first-class clue, proving that I did it. You should never trust to alibis. I know I've read that somewhere."
"If I found that you had done it -" said Inspector Harding in much too serious a voice. "Well, that's too horrible a thought. Let's talk of something else."
Ten minutes later, when Geoffrey and Francis entered the house, Miss Fawcett and Inspector Harding were seated side by side on a black-oak settle, amicably exchanging views on Life, Tastes, and Ambitions.
"Dear me!" said Francis, at his blandest. "I'm afraid we have interrupted a tete-a-tete. Or is it just police investigation?"
Inspector Harding, betraying no sign of discomfiture, got up. "Good morning," he said impersonally. "I want a word with you, Captain Billington-Smith. Will you come into the morning-room, please?"
"Oh, was I the person you came to see?" said Francis. "It all goes to show one ought never to judge by appearances, doesn't it?"
Harding vouchsafed no answer to this, but merely held open the door into the morning-room. Francis strolled in, stripping off his wash-leather driving gloves.
Harding shut the door, and walked slowly forward.
Francis tossed his gloves on to the table between them, and drew out his cigarette-case. "From your expression,
Inspector, I'm led to suppose you have something of great importance to disclose."
"You are perfectly right," said Harding. "What I have to say to you is extremely serious, Captain Billington-Smith. Your car was seen, parked on the track leading to Dean Farm, at eleven-thirty on Monday morning."
For a moment Francis's hand remained poised above his open cigarette-case, while his eyes, suddenly narrowed, looked straight across into Harding's. Then, he drew out a cigarette, and shut his case with a snap. "Damn!" he said, and returned the case to his pocket. He set the cigarette between his lips, lit it, and blew a cloud of smoke. "Well?" he said. "What now?"
"Now," said Harding quietly, "I should like you to tell me the true story of what you did on Monday morning. Where were you at eleven-thirty?"
"Robbing the safe in the next room," replied Francis with something of a snap. "Who was the meddlesome busybody who nosed out my car?"
"That doesn't concern you, Captain Billington-Smith. Now, you are not bound to make a statement, but in your own interests I advise you to do so."
"It is quite obvious that I must," replied Francis. "Well, my uncle didn't send me the notes. You never really thought he had sent them, did, you? It would have been remarkably difficult to have proved that he hadn't, though. I robbed the safe when I knew he would be out of the house. I hope you notice my use of the phrase "robbed the safe". It sounds much better than "stole the money", and comes to the same thing." He gave a mirthless laugh, and threw his half-smoked cigarette into the grate. "I wanted it pretty badly. A card debt, as I quite truthfully told you. A cheque on my bank, judging from an engaging chat I had with the manager a week ago, didn't seem to me to stand much chance of being honoured. For which very good reason I came to spend the week-end in this house. My uncle rather liked me, you know. In his saner moments he would have paid much more than one hundred and thirty pounds to keep me — or his name — out of the mud. Unfortunately I didn't strike him in one of these. That was thanks to my cousin's perfectly insane infatuation with the fair Lola. I did what I could, but even my handling of Uncle failed. I tackled him on Monday, immediately after breakfast. He was all tuned up for one final, cataclysmic quarrel with Geoffrey. I might as well have talked to a brick wall. So I left him to have it out with Geoffrey. If Geoffrey had promised to abjure Lola and be a good boy there might have been a chance for me. So I waited till the row was over. The sight of Geoffrey gnawing his fingers and rolling his eyes in the manner of one goaded beyond endurance told me, however, that there was still no hope. I took my departure. The car, by the way, was running badly — dam' badly, but I was really too worried to care. I drove slowly towards London, wondering what the hell I was to do next." He stopped, and sat down in a chair by the table. "By the time I'd covered about ten miles I knew what I was going to do. And now I shall have to go back a bit. Do tell me if I'm boring you!"