For quite twenty minutes after he had gone the conversation between Miss Fawcett and Inspector Harding had no bearing at all upon the problems that might have been supposed to engross the Inspector's attention, and was not remarkable for any very noticeable degree of intelligence or originality. It seemed, however, to be an eminently satisfactory conversation from their point of view, and might have been continued for an unspecified length of time, had not Miss Fawcett chanced to ask Inspector Harding if he realised that if no one had murdered the General they might never have met.
Recalled to a sense of his duties, Inspector Harding put Miss Fawcett firmly away from him. "Sit down in that chair, Dinah, and pretend I'm the Superintendent, or the sub-human detective who came about the plated entree dishes," he said, and resolutely retired to a chair on the other side of the table.
"Oh, do you remember that?" asked Dinah idiotically.
"I rem — No!" said Harding with emphasis. "You must help me. I'm here strictly on business. There are things I want to ask you." He eyed Miss Fawcett across the table.
"It isn't helping to look at me like that," he said uncertainly. "It only makes me want to kiss you again."
"Pretend I'm Camilla," suggested Dinah. "Oh, and do you know, she thinks I'm making a dead set at you? Shc told me so at lunch. I didn't, did I?"
Inspector Harding cleared his throat. "Miss Fawcett," he said severely, "I want you to carry your mind back to the morning of July first, please."
"All right," said Dinah, willing to oblige, "but if you go and fasten the murder on to someone I don't want you to, I shan't marry you. I don't mind you arresting the Hallidays, or the gardener, or Lola — though I'm developing quite an affection for her, as a matter of fact — but -"
"You are wasting my time, Miss Fawcett."
"Sorry!" said Dinah hastily. She folded her hands in her lap. "Go on, what have I got to remember? I'll do what I can for you, but I seem to have gone addled in the head all at once."
"It's important, Dinah, so do try! Did Mrs. Twining come to lunch on Monday by chance, or by invitation, or what?"
"All three," replied Dinah. "Pseudo-chance, so that Arthur shouldn't think it was a put-up job, and invitation because I invited her; and what, because of the row about Lola. She was at the fatal dinner-party on Saturday, and so she'd seen what was likely to happen. She rang up on Monday to hear the latest news, and when I told her that it was all pretty grim, she said that she thought she'd come over and see what she could do with Arthur."
"Did she seem to be worried about the situation?"
"N-no, I don't think so. Rather amused. To tell you the truth, I've never been able to make her out, quite. She's always cool and cynical, the sort of person you wouldn't expect to care two pins for anybody, but she really has taken a lot of trouble on Geoffrey's behalf. Of course, I know he's the sort of youth who appeals to sentimental matrons, but she isn't sentimental in the least. You can understand people like Mrs. Chudleigh falling for him, but not Mrs. Twining. She's too caustic."
"Does she give you the impression of being very fond of him?"
"Well, she does and she doesn't. Funnily enough I asked her that very question on Monday — I mean, whether she was very fond of him. She said she wasn't, but that she'd known him for so long she took an interest in him, or something. She and I had gone to find Fay — it was when she first arrived — and I was asking her what Geoffrey's mother was like."
"Were you? What did she say?"
"Nothing much, except that whatever she — Geoffrey's mother — had done that was rotten she'd had to pay for. Which rather snubbed me, because I'd said I thought it was rotten of his mother to have deserted him."
"She said that, did she? Do you know anything about the General's first wife, Dinah?"
"No, that was why I asked Mrs. Twining. Even Fay never dared mention her to Arthur. Skeleton in the cupboard, you know. There isn't even a snapshot of her that I've ever discovered."
"You don't by any chance know what her name was?"
"No, of course not. Arthur expunged her from the records, so to speak. Why do you want to know?"
Harding held up an admonitory finger. "I'm asking the questions, not you," he said.
"Ha!" said Miss Fawcett, kindling. "Well, make the most of this interview, Detective-Inspector Harding."
"You can take it out of me as soon as I'm through with this case," promised Harding. "Let's come back to Mrs. Twining. When she went to the General's study how long was she away?"
"I don't know exactly. Quite a few minutes — somewhere between five and ten, I should think, because when she came back and told us Arthur had been murdered, I wondered why on earth she hadn't come back at once. Though, when I came to think it over, I saw it was much more like her to pull herself together first. I wish I knew what you were driving at. Kindly note the way I've phrased that. Not by any means a question, you perceive. Just a remark thrown out at random."
"Was she wearing gloves?"
"Yes, frightfully expensive ones," replied Dinah. "People of her generation nearly always do, only hers aren't the fat-white-woman-whom-nobody-loves kind at all."
Harding sat back in his chair. "What on earth are you talking about?" he asked patiently.
"You know!" said Dinah. "Why do you walk in the fields in gloves, missing so much and so much?" Mrs. Chudleigh wears that kind of glove. Mrs. Twining's are just part of the general ensemble, not glovey at all. And they were ruined, too, because she'd touched Arthur's body, and one of her hands was all stained with blood. It was beastly."
"Which one?" Harding asked.
Dinah screwed up her eyes, as though trying to focus something. "The right one," she replied, and suddenly stiffened. "John!"
"Well?"
"You must be mad!" gasped Dinah. "It isn't possible!"
"Someone did it, Dinah."
"Yes, but — but it's too fantastic! I see what you're driving at, but -"
He got up. "I can't discuss it with you, darling. Will you sit tight and say nothing to anyone? I may be on a wrong track altogether." He looked at his wrist-watch. "I must go now," he said. "I shall see you tomorrow, I hope — lateish."
When he stepped out into the porch presently he found the Sergeant seated in the car, reading a folded newspaper with the air of one who expects to be obliged to kick his heels indefinitely. He said briefly: "Sorry to have been so long, Sergeant. Did you find out anything from the gardener?"
"No, sir, not a thing." The Sergeant stowed his newspaper away, and coughed. "I ought to mention, sir, that happening on Captain Billington-Smith, and him questioning me, I took the liberty of informing him that he was pretty well cleared."
"I'd forgotten about him," said Harding, getting into the car and pressing the self-starter. "Quite right, Sergeant."
"Yes," said the Sergeant. "I had a notion it might have slipped your memory, sir."
Harding glanced at him suspiciously, but the Sergeant was looking more wooden than ever. "You having other things to think about, sir, as you might say," he added.
Harding changed the subject. "I'm dropping you in Ralton, Sergeant, and going on up to London as soon as I've picked up my suitcase," he said.
The Sergeant was betrayed into an unguarded exclamation. "Lor', sir, you're never throwing the case up?"
"No, of course I'm not. I shall be back tomorrow, sometime. I'm going to find out what was the name of the General's first wife, and what became of her."