Masters took a few lumbering paces, as though he were measuring spots in the carpet. Then he turned in angry uneasiness.
"Just so. Just so, sir. And that's what jars me about your orders. You've refused to let me question Miss Carewe, or question her yourself.?'
"Ho ho! You're jolly well right I have, son."
"And you don't seem to want to question Rainger either. Eh? Barring, I mean, your going into a conference with Emery and telling him to get Rainger sober as soon as possible. "
H. M. opened one eye. "I don't think you quite understood what I said, Masters. My instructions, to Emery were to keep Rainger as sodden drunk as possible. Uh huh. To sit by his bedside with a wary eye out, and shove a drink under his nose the moment he showed signs of stirrin'. Emery thinks I'm off my onion. Like you. But I promised to introduce him to the murderer of his wife, and he's obeying orders. Like you."
A slow, weird expression began to dawn across Masters' face, and H. M. nodded with malevolent glee.
"At last! I knew sooner or later you'd see it. Uh huh, And you're exactly right. That's it. I don't want to question either the Carewe girl or Rainger, especially Rainger. I tell you frankly, son, that if once Rainger gets the opportunity of replyin' to the accusation against him, then I'm licked… All I need is a couple of hours free, but I need 'em badly. And this is by way of prelude to requestin' you, Miss Bohun, whatever else you do in the next three hours, for God's sake don't mention Dr. Wynne's report about your friend. Got it?"
His voice was very low, lower than the wind that had begun to rumble in the chimney, but it seemed to echo in the cold room. He was bending forward with his dusty bald head under the light; but it was as though he grew to enormous size against massive gray-and-black furnishings. Snowflakes ticked and flew against the windows. The nightmare sensation had come back to Bennett. With that shift in the wind, he thought he could distinguish in its blast an echo of something he had heard that morning.
"Do you," said Katharine suddenly, "do you hear a dog howling?"
They all heard it; but nobody spoke until Katharine turned round and nodded briefly. "You'll have to excuse me," she said in a colorless voice. "It's late. I must dress."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Concerning Murder on a Lamp Shade
"Rummy, sir," said Masters with genial uneasiness, "the ideas you get, eh?" He clucked his tongue and tried to smile. "I've been interviewing servants, you know. They all said that Alsatian was howling this morning just before — I'm very fond of dogs. Now what?"
H. M. pinched the side of his jaw. His dull eye wandered round the room; and his stolid bulk conveyed somehow an impression of restlessness.
"Hey? Oh! Now! Well, I'll tell you what. You and the young un go down and look in on Rainger. Make sure he's sleepin' the sleep of the just. Dammit, where do you suppose Potter's got to with that butler? I want to talk with him, and then I want a look round this room. Ah! He nodded almost affably when there was a knock at the door. Inspector Potter towered behind a rather frightened Thompson.
"Enfin!" growled H. M. "You're the man I want to see. Tut, now, I ain't goin' to hurt you! You may stay, Potter. Cut along, you other chaps. Come back here when you've finished. Rrrum! Now, then. I want to know just how bad that jaw of yours was last night, Thompson. Toothache's the devil, ain't it? I know. I was wonderin' if it let you get any sleep at all last night? If, for instance, you might have dozed off a bit towards the end of the night, about four or five o'clock..:'
That was all Masters and Bennett heard, for Masters closed the door. Then the stolid Chief Inspector lifted a big fist and shook it with violent pantomime in the dimly lighted gallery. Bennett said:
"What's on his mind? Have you got the cloudiest notion what's on his mind?"
"Yes," said Masters, and let his hand fall. "Yes. But, I tell you straight, I don't like to think what it means. Or — no. 'Tisn't exactly that I don't like to think of it, if he's got his eye on the man I think he has. But I don't see how he's going to prove it. There's gentlemen that are apt to be a bit too canny even for him. Above all, I don't see what he hopes to gain by reconstructing that attempt on the lady's life last night. Blast it, that seems unimportant! It's not as though the thing succeeded, you know."
"Yes. That's it. Can you hear that dog howling, now?'
"All dogs howl," said Masters curtly. "It seems we've got a job of work. Let's go to the chap's room and take his pulse. Great work for the CID. Eh? If he's not satisfactorily in a stupor, we shall probably catch it from Sir Henry. This way."
Rainger's room was near the head of the staircase, just at the turn of the gallery in the comparatively modem part of the house. A light shone out over the transom, and the door was partly open. Almost instinctively Masters jerked back as he heard voices. One was a woman's and it choked something between sobs. The other was Emery's, shrill with a sort of wild patience.
"Now listen!" Emery urged. "I've been trying to tell you for five minutes-stop bawling, will you? You've got me so jittery I can't sit still. Quit it! If you've got anything to tell me, go on and tell it. I'm listening. Here, for God's sake have some of this-have a drink of gin, huh? Now, listen, Miss Umm — what'd you say your name was?"
"Beryl, sir. Beryl Symonds."
"All right! Now take it easy. What were you trying to say?"
The choking voice controlled itself. "I tried, sir, honestly I tried to tell the gentleman this afternoon, really I did, but he was so awful blued that all he did was make a g — grab for me. And I was going to tell him I couldn't tell the master, because of course the master w-wouldn't understand and I should simply get the s-sack"
"Look," said Emery. "Are you trying to tell me Carl made a pass at you? Is that it?"
"They said you were a friend of his, sir, and you won't make me tell! You mustn't. He told me this morning when I brought him his tea, `You was right'; that's what 'e said; `you was right!' I mean, for turning the key last night. And I told him what they was saying about the murder being done, and he turned a funny color first he was already getting blued, you see-and he come running after me, truly he did, pulling on a bathrobe and saying, `Good girl, good girl; well, if I come into this, you know where I was last night, don't you?' And I said, Yes. But —'
Masters knocked at the door and pushed it open with almost the same gesture.
Something that was probably sheer terror prevented the girl from screaming out. She jerked back and said, "Oh my God, it's the police!" It was Emory, white-faced and dishevelled, who leaped up from his chair, spilling a lurid-covered magazine out of his lap; and he choked back a nervous yelp just in time.