"Exactly. Well?"
"He wasn't. He called out to me, `You can forget what I said tonight,' in a nasty but rather a triumphant way; he said, `I've got better business.' And he slammed the door of his room." She brushed Rainger aside, with a violence of impatience; she pushed the heavy brown hair back behind her ears and leaned forward with her hands clenched. "But this other thing. What are you thinking about John?'
Masters took a deep breath. "You needn't be surprised to hear, Miss, that among Mr. Rainger's other remarks was an accusation of murder. Now, now! Steady, Miss. Fine lot of witnesses. Rainger's case, a matter of snowfall, rests on Mr. Bohun's arriving back here half an hour before the snow stopped. But if we only knew what time he did get back…"
A pewter dish-cover rattled on the sideboard. Somebody coughed.
"Excuse me, sir," said Thompson's voice. "May I speak?" His expression was worried but determined; he seemed less hostile towards Masters.
"I know I shouldn't be here," he said. "I hear things. But I've been in this house for a long time, and they let me. I can tell you positively the time Mr. John came home last night; and my wife was awake too, and she'll tell you the same thing."
"Well?"
"He returned at a little past three o'clock, sir. At just the time he told you he did. Tempest was barking because of something else."
CHAPTER TEN
How a Dead Man Spoke on the Phone
"I wish you had asked me that before," Thompson continued. He sucked in on his stiff swollen jaw. "I can swear to it. My room, and my wife's, are on that side of the house, but," he nodded, "higher up. Under the eaves. I heard the car come in about five or ten minutes past three. I was going down to. help him out with his bags, and see if he wanted anything, sir. But I — my wife said — well, that I should only get more cold in," he touched his jaw, "this. I thought if he wanted me he would ring. When Mr. Maurice said I could go to bed, I'd already turned on the light in Mr. John's room and left sandwiches and whisky. But then at half-past one Mr. Maurice called me out of bed again, to ask me to telephone to the stables and have them lock up Tempest… "
"He would not," said Masters curtly, "he would not telephone himself, then?"
"No, sir." Thompson's eyelids flickered slightly. "That is not Mr. Maurice's way. But I felt I'd done enough."
"But if you swear the other one didn't come home at half-past one. you swear that, eh? Well!" said Masters, and bent forward. "Why was the dog barking, then. Eh?"
Thompson's expression grew faintly ugly. "It's none of my business, sir. But, after all, when it comes to a matter of accusing Mr. John, that's a different thing. Tempest barked because somebody left this house and went down towards the pavilion. That's what my wife will tell you. She saw it."
Whenever Masters got himself into an especially muddled state of mind, Bennett noticed, he always turned around and soothingly said, "Now, now, to everybody else: even though nobody had spoken. The chief inspector hoisted himself up from his chair, performed this rite with a grim stare at Katharine, and towered over the butler.
"You didn't," he said heavily, "tell us this before."
`I'm sorry, sir. I don't, and didn't, and never will, want to make trouble for anybody. Besides, I know now it couldn't have been-"
Thompson, with nerves frayed out of his professional indulgent calm, faced Masters with a dogged and reddish eye. He changed his words so swiftly that you were conscious of almost no break or hesitation in, "I know it couldn't have been would you like to hear my story, sir?"
"Couldn't have been who?"
"Mr. John.”
"Are you sure," said Masters quietly, "that's what you meant?"
"Yes, sir. Do you care to hear about it? When Tempest began barking, both my wife and I thought it was Mr. John returning, especially when my bell rang from the library. I hurried to dress; and — and one must be fully dressed, and answer within two minutes according to the rule, or Mr. Maurice. " For a flash, an old and very tired man looked back at them before Thompson froze again to impassiveness. "My wife (the cook, sir) looked out of the side window, but the roof of the porte-cochere is there so she couldn't see anything. But she noticed something else. Of course it was dark and snowing, but there were a few windows lighted at the back of the house (those tall windows) and she saw somebody running down towards the pavilion. That's all,
"Oh, yes. Yes, I see. Who was this person?"
"How could she tell, sir? She couldn't! She couldn't even tell."
"Whether it was a man or a woman," supplied Masters, with a heavy dryness. "Just so. Now, then. Go and get your wife and tell her to come down here."
Thompson turned abruptly. "I swear this is for the best, Miss Kate! They'd have found it out! And I couldn't have them thinking either Mr. John or-" He clenched his hands.
"Yes, I see," said Masters. "Quite. Cut along." As the door closed, Masters turned to Katharine with an air of heavy geniality. "Now what do you want to bet, Miss Bohun, that what he was going to say wasn't, 'Mr. John or you?' Eh? I think we'll find Mrs. T. believes it was a woman. He heard a good deal. He's foxy enough. He only spoke when he was sure it couldn't have been you. Because you were exchanging words with Mr. Rainger upstairs in the hall by the bedrooms at the same time this, um, `person' was running towards the pavilion, and he doesn't think you'd be fool enough to invent a story like that. Eh?"
She leaned back in the oak chair, her gray dress sombre among shadows, the gauze scarf floating at her throat. Her rather full breast rose and fell. The pale face against the oak, the luminous brown eyes with brows turning up slightly at the outer corners, — that, Bennett suddenly realized, was the weirdly ancient effect like one of the gilt-framed portraits in the dining-hall, which gave her the resemblance to Marcia Tait. And that was all. He realized that he was not falling in love with a ghost, but that he was falling in love with Katharine Bohun.
"How do you know," she said suddenly, "that I didn't invent the story? If Rainger said I tried to kill Marcia once last night, he wouldn't be likely to support what I told you, would he? We don't know when Mrs. Thompson saw somebody out on the lawn, if she did see somebody. The dog was barking a long time. The person might have left the house just a little after I spoke to Rainger… Oh, I know what you're
thinking, and it's absurd! Won't you see it? The person you're thinking of wouldn't hurt a fly"
"Nothing like a good friend," said Masters sagely. "Excuse me, Miss: where did you get those bruises on your neck?"
Her hands darted up. After a pause she said:
"Louise was hysterical. She'd had a scare. "
"Just so. That is, Miss, from what I've heard of the story as it was being described to Dr. Wynne, and a few intimations from Mr. Willard, all we can be certain of was that she was lying senseless near your door with a bloodstain on her wrist… What time was it you found her?"
"I–I don't know what to say to you." She hesitated, studying him from under heavy eyelids, and suddenly added with her own sometimes shattering frankness: "I'd lie to you like a shot, if I knew what time Marcia had been killed. But I don't, so I'll tell the truth. It was some time between half-past three and four o'clock… Honestly, truthfully, now, you don't really believe-?"
Masters chuckled.
"Now, now! You've got to excuse me, you know, if I don't accuse a young lady of murder before I've ever even seen her. I'd lie to you like a shot, only I've got to have a bit more evidence. It looks queer. But then," he hammered his fist into his palm, "as neat a case as I've ever heard at the Old Bailey was put forward against your uncle. I mean your Uncle John. Lummy, but it was neat! And it was the only thing, you'd think, that could explain an impossible situation. Next thing we know, witnesses come along and blow it sky high. It doesn't mean he's not guilty because he didn't get back here until three o'clock; but it means he's as innocent as anybody else. Maybe more so. Certainly more so if those tracks of his can be proved honest, but it leaves us with an impossible situation again, and what sticks in my craw even worse than that is… Yes?"