They went down the stairs, along the passage where the raincoat and scarf had hung, and through to the drawing-room of the next house.
The dust-sheets had been removed from the furniture, and the scene had a kind of caricature resemblance to one of the more ghastly forms of tea-party. Mrs. Brand and Miss Remington sat side by side on a gilded sofa between the windows. Cyril, in his town suit, was standing beside the piano looking like any guest who wishes he had not come and is counting the moments till he can get away. Penny, in a dark skirt and the old white sweater, sat stiffly on a small gilt chair, her hands in her lap, her eyes never lifting from them. There was even a tea-table, a gimcrack inlaid affair, but instead of a tea-tray it was laid out with writing materials, and behind it, to dispense not hospitality but justice, sat Inspector Crisp, stocky, wiry, efficient, and very much concerned with getting to the top of his own particular tree. To do this it was necessary that he should get to the bottom of this and every other case which came his way. From the set of his head with its harsh dark hair, his bristling eyebrows, and quick frown, to the way in which he handled the papers before him and kept his feet firmly planted upon a rather anaemic rose wreath in the Brussels carpet, everything about him declared that he was a man who would stand no nonsense. The young constable who sat on the piano-stool with pencil and notebook ready kept a wary eye cocked in his direction, and was obviously ready to spring to it at the mere flick of an eyelash.
Marian and Ina sat down together on a second small sofa. Richard pulled up a chair beside them.
Eliza Cotton stalked in with an air of extreme disapproval and went to stand behind Penny with a hand on the back of her chair.
The door to the garden was open and a soft air came in, but the room had a chill.
Inspector Crisp looked them all up and down and rapped upon the table.
“Everyone here who slept in either of the two houses last night?” he said in a barking voice.
Richard was just thinking that he reminded him of a terrier-the whole air of him, and the eyebrows bristling out over the small bright eyes when they were suddenly turned on himself.
“Who are you, sir? Were you here last night? I haven’t got you down. Who are you?”
“Richard Cunningham. I am a friend of Miss Brand and Mrs. Felton. I didn’t sleep in the house, but I was here all day.”
“When did you leave?”
“About half past ten.”
Crisp stared at him for a moment, said, “Very well, you may stay,” and rapped again. “I would like everyone to give me their attention. I have here a list of the bedrooms in both houses which look out towards the sea. I am going to check up on them.”
He picked up a sheet of paper and read from it.
“In this house:-
Attic bedroom, occupied by Miss Halliday-box-room next door.
Next floor:-
Two bedrooms-Miss Remington and Miss Adrian.”
Cassy Remington made a fidgeting movement.
“Of course, Inspector, it’s really my niece Penny’s room- Miss Halliday. Only she isn’t actually my niece but rather a distant cousin, though she has always called us Aunt.”
She wore her lilac cardigan and a long chain of gold links and amethysts. Her fingers played with it continually. Her blue eyes dwelt on the Inspector and sustained his frown.
“That is beside the point. You are not suggesting that Miss Halliday did not occupy the attic room last night?”
“Oh, no, Inspector.”
“Or that Miss Adrian was not occupying the bedroom next to yours?”
She darted a little edged glance at him.
“Not really next, because the bathroom is in between. It used to be a dressing-room, you know, but Mr. Brand’s father had baths put in on both sides of the house.”
Mrs. Brand’s colour had been deepening alarmingly. She said, “Really, Cassy!” in an exasperated voice.
Crisp said sharply,
“Miss Remington, I must ask you not to speak unless you have something relevant to say. You and Miss Adrian were occupying the two bedrooms above us now, and they both look out towards the sea. Mrs. Brand and Mr. Felix Brand have the rooms which look towards the road?”
Miss Cassy fiddled with her chain.
“Oh, yes, Inspector. My sister finds this side of the house too bright, but I like all the sun I can get.”
Crisp opened his mouth, closed it again with something uncommonly like a snap, and returned to the paper he was holding.
“In the next house, which is on exactly the same plan, Miss Eliza Cotton has the attic bedroom, Miss Brand and Mrs. Felton the two rooms looking towards the sea on the bedroom floor. One of the rooms looking towards the road was empty, and Mr. Felton was in the other. That is correct?”
Cassy Remington twisted the links of her chain.
“Oh, quite,” she said brightly. “Except that you’ve forgotten the bathroom. But it’s just the same as the one on this side. It was the dressing-room of the best bedroom, you see, so it is between Miss Brand’s room and her sister’s.”
Crisp said, “Yes, yes, we’ve had all that! Now, if you please, I want to know whether anyone heard Miss Adrian cry, or call out. I want to know whether anyone heard any unusual sound of any kind. I want to know whether anyone heard her come downstairs or leave the house. This glass door into the garden was found open this morning by Mrs. Bell. It may have been opened by Miss Adrian, or by Mr. Felix Brand, who is missing. I want to know whether anyone heard it opened. You, Miss Remington-your room is immediately over it. Did you hear the door being opened?”
She put her head on one side and gave him a bright, birdlike attention. Anyone who knew her well would have known that she was enjoying herself. Eliza Cotton eyed her with disapproval. People hadn’t any business to enjoy themselves when there had just been a murder in the house.
“The door? This door? Oh, no. But then if I was asleep I don’t think I should. All our doors and windows open very quietly-none of them creak.”
“Did you hear any cry?”
“Well, there you put me in a difficulty, Inspector. I must absolutely refuse to swear to it.”
Everybody was now looking at her. Eliza’s impression that she was enjoying herself deepened, so did Eliza’s disapproval.
Crisp said with restraint,
“You are not being asked to swear to anything. I am asking you whether you heard a cry.”
Miss Cassy said in a bright voice,
“I couldn’t possibly say whether it was a seagull.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Now, Inspector, you mustn’t try and catch me. I didn’t say it was in the middle of the night. I woke up, I heard this cry, and I went to sleep again. I had no opportunity of consulting my watch, which was on the dressing-table.”
“I suppose you know whether it was dark?”
“Oh, quite dark. Quite, quite dark.”
“Then it wasn’t a seagull.”
“But it might have been a bat,” said Cassy Remington.
“A bat!” The Inspector’s restraint was wearing thin. The word came out with a snap.
“Oh, yes, Inspector. You may not be aware of the fact that bats have quite a sharp cry. It is so high in the scale that most people are unable to hear it. I happen to be one of the exceptions.”
Crisp tapped with his pencil in an exasperated manner.
“You woke in the dark at some time which you cannot fix, and you heard something which may or may not have been a human cry.”
Miss Cassy jingled her chain.
“Of course it may have been a cat. They come here after Mactavish.”
Crisp pounced on the name.
“Mactavish?”
“Our cat, Inspector-a very fine half-Persian.”