"I knew this morning that this man Rainger was in all probability guilty, and I could have told you how he had done it." Here his little head had turned snakily towards Masters. "You may recall, inspector, that I intimated a possibility of explaining the problem that troubled you? Ah yes. I fancy you do remember. Of course it will be obvious why I could not speak?"
Masters blurted: "I don't know what to make of you, sir, and that's a fact. Yes, I know why. You wondered whether this man Rainger's business proposition was on the level. And if he did mean to offer you some fantastic job at some fantastic salary, you mean to say you were willing to cover him up in a murder?"
Maurice had only looked mildly puzzled and troubled.
"Surely it was the logical thing, was it not?"
"And you believe in this very fishy offer of Rainger's?"
"Admitting," said Maurice with sudden harshness, "that I was for a moment taken in! What would anyone have thought? These Americans are all notoriously fools about money. The brethren of the cinema are worse than any. Besides, if you will allow me to say so, I am not unaware of my own worth. But when I had the good fortune to overhear a conversation between you, Sir Henry, and this offensive person named Emery, then whatever doubts I had were destroyed. He had been deliberately making a fool of me I" Maurice conquered his tone before his words made a fool of him there. He became cool again. "I am only wondering whether Sir Henry deliberately spoke in a loud tone to this man Emery.."
H. M. blinked sleepily. A sound came from somewhere deep in his chest.
"Oh, maybe. Maybe. My sight ain't as good as it might be, but I noticed somethin' gray and ghosty floatin' around outside the door; and I thought you might as well know. Well?"
Trying to force these images to the back of his mind, Bennett got up and stalked about the room as he continued dressing. He would put that problem aside until he could discuss it with somebody: 'preferably Katharine, since the tangle involved Louise Carewe. H. M. had insisted that Louise should not be questioned until this evening, and Maurice (even afire with his theory) had been content to let it rest.
The trouble was. He had adjusted his tie, and was getting into his coat, when somebody knocked at the door.
"May I come in?" said Katharine's voice. "I know it's the wrong time, but I had to see you. Everything's all right; I've just left John. He's still unconscious, but he's in no danger."
She was hatless, and wore a heavy tweed coat still powdered with snow. The cold had brought brilliant color into her cheeks.
"In fact, I've got good news all around; surprising news. I've looked in on Louise. She's up and about, and she'll come down to dinner. It's a funny thing, but I feel better than I have for years." She came up to the fire, spreading out her hands, and tossed her hair back as she looked over her shoulder. "By the way, what is the matter with Uncle Maurice?"
"Matter?"
"High spirits. That's what I don't like. When I came in, Thompson said there'd been some sort of row about, that man Rainger; and that the other one, the nice one, Emery, had been here all afternoon trying to sober him up. Only he wouldn't be sobered, and from what Thompson said he'd been raving and singing about the house; and that's what Uncle Maurice hates. But when I came in, this Mr. Emery was coming downstairs, and Uncle Maurice came out, and slapped him on the shoulder. I say, it's unbelieveablel That is, if you knew Maurice. And he said, `Where are you going?' Emery looked ill; I mean really ill. I wanted to stop him and ask if I couldn't do something, only I didn't know him. But he said he'd got a room in a hotel at Epsom nearby where they were keeping her. "
"Steady! No Price Terrors now. Go on."
"It was only that Uncle Maurice said, `Are you a friend of Mr. Rainger?" Emery said, `Certainly; what about it? And Uncle Maurice said, `Then you've got to stay to dinner. You'll hear something very interesting.' Emery looked at him in a queer sort of way; and there must be something on his mind, because he said, `You'd invite Me to dinner? You don't think what Canifest does?' I say, he was upset! Something about people thinking he was a — a — well, he used the word 'louse.' And Uncle Maurice said, 'If you're a friend of Mr. Rainger, nobody will be more welcome.' It simply doesn't sound like him, that's all."
"It sounds more like him than you think."
She dropped her hands and turned round to look at him fully.
"I know what you mean," she said, "but I don't understand."
He told her. He told her only of the accusation, and added: "Sit down and let me explain it, because — it concerns you. It also concerns Louise. Will you be frank with me now?"
"Yes. That is, except about one thing, and that doesn't concern murders."
That sharp directness of hers had come through; it would have come through, even if she had tried to prevent it. She was looking up at him, her head back as though defiantly, but he could see her shoulders quivering and the rise and fall of her breast.
"No!" she said suddenly and almost hysterically, as he took a step forward. "That's what I meant when I said I wouldn't be frank. Not now! Not now, do you see? I'm a nasty little-little-I don't know! But I'm — I'm even postponing my feelings, until there's nothing else except them to think about or worry about; when every single thing that I think and care can all be set on one. Quick! Tell me what you were going to say about Maurice. That's only fair."
"Maurice," he replied, and took almost a pleasure in snapping out a name he detested, "accused Rainger of Marcia's murder. I told you that already. And I was going to ask if you really believed Louise had gone down to the pavilion. Because, according to Maurice, she did. Sit down. In a way it concerns you."
"Do you really think that Rainger —? What does your man-who-can-see-through-the-brick-wall think of it?"
"That's what I don't understand. The only comment he made to me, and he was serious, was that Rainger could have done it. I mean, that he could be guilty; but I don't think he believes…”
"Well, here's the situation. Rainger made a play for you last night, and Marcia noticed it. She didn't like it. She liked to keep her men dancing on the string, and swooped down immediately if one of them looked away; you admitted that yourself. Do you remember telling us that Marcia spoke to him, and he replied, 'Do you mean it?' And that, Maurice says, was an invitation to the pavilion last night."
Her eyes widened, and then narrowed again. She flushed.
"Then," she said abruptly, "when I saw Rainger coming upstairs at half-past one, and he said, 'You can forget what I asked you tonight; I have better business,' what he actually meant was that he was going out to the pavilion later. Is that it?"
"Yes. And Maurice carries it farther, because he supplies a reason for everything! She wasn't inviting Rainger out there for any business of love-making; quite to the contrary, although Rainger didn't know it. She was inviting him out there so that she and your Uncle John — steady, now; I don't mean anything against him-could corner Rainger and, if necessary, wring his neck…"
"But why?"
"Because Rainger had been the whole motivating force behind Emery's telling Lord Canifest about the marriage. She knew she could handle Emery; but not when Rainger played on Emery's nerves and uneasiness and sent him to Canifest to tell the whole thing! It's Rainger's fine Italian hand that you can see behind the whole business, whether or not you accuse him of murder. Marcia had heard rumors that the beans were spilled. That was why John had gone to see Canifest." He hesitated, but she gestured fiercely for him to go on. "Well, frankly, John may or may not have known about Marcia's marriage to Emery. Emery thinks he didn't; but, whether he did or not, the shock of hearing from Canifest that his great dream about the play had gone to smash was bad enough in itself. And John knew who had prompted Emery to tell. This morning, when he was talking to Willard and me, he flared out about Rainger being behind it