In the same dreamlike state, amid a .blur of colour and light, he raced after Hadley up the stairs. They found Bert Miller, his mouth open, standing before the closed door of Lesley's bedroom. Neither Miller nor Hadley spoke loudly.
'This door's locked, sir.'
'Then break it in!'
'I don't know, sir, as we ought to do ...' 'Break it in, I tell you!'
It was a thin door. Miller stood back, opening his large shoulders. Then he studied the door, and had a better idea. As he assumed the position for a football kick-off, Dick Markham turned away. When the sole of Miller's number eleven boot struck that door just under the knob, Dick did not even hear it.
For Dr Fell was lumbering up the stairs, slowly and heavily, wheezing as he set his weight on the crutch-handled cane. And ahead of him, running lightly, came Lesley Grant.
Lesley stopped abruptly, her hand on the post at the top of the stairs. Her eyes widened.
'Dick!' she cried. 'What on earth is the matter with you?'
Crash! went the sole of Miller's boot, for the second time against that door.
'What's the matter with you, Dick? Why are you looking at me like that?'
Crash! went the sole of Miller's boot.
It was Dr Fell, painfully heaving himself up the last few steps and pausing to get his breath, who got the first inkling of what Dick might have been thinking. Dr Fell's vacant gaze sharpened into focus as he looked from Lesley to Dick Markham, and back again. His mouth fell open under the bandit's moustache, and his head drew back so far that another chin appeared.
' Great Scott, my dear fellow!' he said in a tone of Gargantuan distress. 'You weren't under the impression ... it hadn't occurred to you...?'
Crash! went Miller's boot for the last time. The lock ripped out; the thin door, buckling, flew open and rebounded with such violence that it tore loose the lower hinge.
Dick did not answer Dr Fell. He put his arms around Lesley, and gripped her so tightly that she cried out for breath.
They heard the creaking of Dr Fell's shoes as he walked slowly down the hall and joined Hadley at the shattered door. Hadley, Miller, and Dr Fell looked into the bedroom. The lights inside showed a faint tinge and mist of powder-smoke which drifted out past those three watching faces. Dr Fell lumbered round, and creaked back again.
' I suppose you'd better go and have a look,' he said. 'Lying in there, almost in the same spot where Cynthia Drew must have been lying when you found her knocked out...'
Dick found his voice.
'Cynthia? Then it was Cynthia after all?'
'Good God, no!' said Dr Fell.
After a look of genuine surprise that such a notion should occur, Dr Fell fastened his hand on Dick's shoulder. He walked him down to the doorway where the bright light poured out, and Hadley and Miller made way for them.
Dr Fell motioned Dick to enter.
Swept and garnished was the bedroom, the curtains on its front windows drawn fully back to the summer night, and neat except for the sprawled figure near the foot of the bed, neat except for the .38 calibre automatic pistol lying beside it, neat except for the spreading blotch on the chest of a human being whose lungs still whistled thinly to draw breath. Dr Fell's voice spoke at Dick's ear.
It said:
"There's the only person who could have committed both murders - Dr Hugh Middlesworth.'
CHAPTER 20
THAT happened on the night of Friday, June nth. It was the afternoon of Sunday the 13th that a little group composed of Dr Fell, Hadley, Lesley Grant, and Dick Markham drove out to a certain ill-omened cottage in a police-car. Hadley was writing his final report; the details had to be checked; and so they heard die whole story.
Neither Lesley nor Dick made any comment until they entered the sitting-room. The face of Dr Middlesworth -harassed, patient, thin-haired on top, very intelligent but cold now in death — remained always before them.
When they entered the sitting-room, where Dr Fell occupied the sofa and Hadley the big chair at the writing-table with his notebook, two voices spoke at last.
'Dr Middlesworth 1' exclaimed Dick. 'But how he did it '
'Dr Middlesworth!' breathed Lesley. 'And why he did it, trying to throw the blame on me...!'
Dr Fell, who had lighted a cigar with great concentration, shook out the match sharply.
'No, no, no!' he protested.
'What do you mean by that?'
'The thing we must grasp,' said Dr Fell, in the same toiling way, 'is that there was never the slightest intention of throwing the blame on Miss Grant. That's what we were expected to believe; that's what we were meant to fall for. We were meant to assume that De Villa's murder was carried out by someone who thoroughly believed in "Sir Harvey Gilman", who accepted him as the original Home Office pathologist, and who believed Lesley Grant to be a poisoner. Therefore - do you see? - therefore the one person we could not possibly suspect was the man who doubted "Sir Harvey" from the first, and, in fact, brought me in to prove him an impostor!
'Therein lies the whole ingenuity of this crime.'
Dr Fell's cigar was not drawing to his liking. He struck another match and lit it more carefully.
'H'mf. Yes. So. Let me tell you about this, step for step, just as the evidence presented itself to me.
'At an unearthly hour on Friday morning, a mild-mannered man of intelligent aspect and harassed ways came rushing over to Hastings in his car. He routed me out of bed, and introduced himself as Dr Hugh Middlesworth, G.P., of Six Ashes. He poured out the story of the night, saying he had reason to suspect "Sir Harvey" of being an impostor.
'Was I acquainted with the real Sir Harvey Gilman? Yes, I was. Was the real Sir Harvey a little thin man of fifty-odd, with a bald head? No, certainly not. And that was that.
'"Well," said Middlesworth to me, "this impostor has been scaring a friend of mine named Markham with a damnable pack of lies about hisfiancée. Will you come over to Six Ashes with me - now - and expose the blighter?’"
Dr Fell made a hideous face.
'Naturally I agreed. Oh, ah! My chivalry was stirred. I rose and roared to the relief of a lady in distress and a young man racked by horrors. So we bowled back into the High Street of Six Ashes: only to be greeted by Major Price with the news that Sir Harvey Gilman had been found dead in exactly the same circumstances as his own imaginary cases.
'Wow, ladies and gentlemen! I repeat: wow!
' Middlesworth seemed dumbfounded. So was I.'
Here Dr Fell, assuming a look of powerful earnestness, pointed the end of the cigar at Dick and leaned forward on the sofa.
' Please note,' he said,' that first-off this original theory -Miss Grant to be made scapegoat by somebody who had swallowed "Sir Harvey's" yarn - came from Middlesworth. He and I drove out here to this cottage at shortly past nine o'clock, where we met you and Mr Earnshaw. And I distinctly recall announcing that the suggestion came from Middlesworth. Do you remember?'
Dick nodded.
'Yes. I remember.'
' I accepted that theory,' said Dr Fell, spreading out his hands. ' I took it unto myself. At first glance it seemed the only possible explanation. Only one small thing about it bothered me; and I started to mention this before thinking it more prudent to hold my tongue.
'Now, Mr Markham, "Sir Harvey's" tale of a notorious female poisoner was hand-tailoredfor you. It was scaled for you. It was directed solely at you. It was spun for somebody who would be ... would be ...'
'Go on,' Dick interrupted bitterly. 'Say it. Gullible.'
Dr Fell considered this.
'Not gullible, no. But emotionally concerned, emotionally strung-up, and imaginatively receptive to just such a horror-tale as you heard. Very well! That's fair enough! But why is the impostor so casual about telling all this nonsense in front of the local G.P., who isn't emotionally concerned or receptive, and who might upset his apple-cart?