When she had been urged out of the door, Masters turned back again and shook his fist.
Masters said bitterly: "Very fine and revealing. I'm beginning to see through Rainger to the core. I understand now what's been on his mind; I understand every word he said to us this morning; and I also see why he wasn't anxious to explain what his alibi was. But it don't help us! Eh?"
"He's taking," said Bennett, "a devil of a long time to come back here."
He was startled at his own words. Staring at the empty and tumbled bed, at the mess of bottles on the table, he found himself half hypnotized by the glow of the lamp with the newspaper round its shade. The light gleamed through smeary print, and a part of a headline was traced out on it. He could make out only one word, shaky on the crumpled paper, but it grew more clear in black letters as he looked…
"A long time," he repeated, "to come back. Oughtn't we-'
"Nonsense!" said Masters. "There's somebody coming now."
It was not Rainger. It was H. M., alone. He stood massive in the doorway; still inscrutable, but humped and dangerous. He came in, closed the door after looking round outside, and stood against it.
Masters wearily took out his notebook. "We've got more evidence, sir. I don't know whether you suspected it or not, but Rainger's got an alibi. There's a girl… I'll read it to you. Rainger hasn't come back yet, but it clears him absolutely."
"You don't need it, son," replied H. M. slowly. "He's never comin' back."
The terrible deadness and force of those words struck into the room as sharply as a cry. Outside the wind had fallen nearly to silence; the whole house was very still. Bennett glanced at H. M., who stood with his arms outspread against the tall door, and then back again to the dullglowing newspaper round the lamp. The word that stood out was murder.
After a silence H. M. lumbered up to the table. He glanced at Masters and then Bennett and then Emery.
"We four," he said, "are goin' to have a council-of-war about tonight. My scheme still holds, y'see; and the insane part of all this is that the scheme's better than ever, if we've got the nerve and the callousness to put it through. D'you believe in the Devil, Masters? Do you believe in the devil as a human entity, that listens at keyholes and taps at doors and moves people's lives like a set of dominoes'.. Steady, now. Rainger's dead. He was strangled and thrown down those stairs in King Charles's Room. Poor swine! He was too drunk to defend himself, but not too drunk to think. Thinking killed him. What's that you got in the bottle? Gin? I hate gin, but I'll take one neat. He wasn't very pretty in life, and he's even less pretty when he's dead. I can rather sympathize with him now.
"But," Emery shrilled, "he went out to-"
"Uh-huh. That's what you thought. Ever know that chap when he was too far gone to keep some part of his brain still clickin'? He went out, and surprised Somebody down in that room at the end of the gallery. Somebody strangled him and chucked him downstairs… I'm a pompous ass, ain't I?" inquired H. M., opening and shutting his hands. He peered at Bennett. "I kept jeerin' at your bogies and noises. And, all the while I was sittin' in that room, that poor frustrated swine of a Rainger was lying at the foot of the steps with his face blue and fingermarks on his throat. But how was I to know it? I only suspected one thing. I didn't suspect murder. We only saw it when Potter and I looked at the stairs. -Easy, Masters! Where are you goin'?"
The Chief Inspector's voice shook a little. "Where would I be going, sir?" he demanded. "This puts the lid on it I'm going to find out where everybody in this house…"
"No you're not, son. Not if I can prevent you. Nobody else in this house is to know he's dead."
"What?"
"That's what I said. Potter's guardin' him, and Potter won't let anybody in. What can we do for him now, except piously take off our hats? He's dead. We're goin' to leave him exactly where he is, Masters, for maybe a few hours. It may be a brutal trick; it may be insultin' the clay to turn it into a dummy for a show; but the show's goin' to go on according to program. When our little group goes to that staircase in the dark, and the candle's held up, they'll see him down there just as he fell. All right. I'll have that drink now."
He took bottle and glass from Emery's unsteady hands, and then looked at Emery, who had sat down on the bed.
"I got some instructions for you, son. I want you to listen carefully, and for God's sake don't deviate from what I tell you. You're the only one who can carry it off to convince 'em, because you're Rainger's friend. You're not to go down to dinner. You're to stay here, with that door locked on the inside. If anybody comes to the door, no matter who it is or on whatever pretext, you're not to open it. You're to tell 'em through the door that Rainger is waking up from his stupor, but that he's a pretty unsightly object and you won't show him until he's presentable. Got that?"
"Yes, but-?'
"All right. As soon after dinner as we can manage, the whole crowd of us will come up here for a little experiment in King Charles's Room. Never mind exactly what it is. If anybody tries to rout Rainger out to make him take part in it, use the same excuse as before. Jim Bennett here will take Rainger's place in the experiment, and I'm goin' to be Marcia Tait. I don't dare have Masters directly on the scene; and he's goin' to be, for a certain very good reason, at the foot of the staircase. When we've gone into King Charles's Room, so that they still think you're back here, sneak out of this room; go down there; stand in the doorway, and watch. They probably won't notice you. They'll be on the landing, and there'll be no lights but a candle. Whatever you see or hear that you don't expect, don't say anything until I give you the word. Is that clear?"
Masters struck his fist on the table.
"But look here, sir! Can't you give us some intimation as to what you do expect? I'll fall in with this lunacy, if you like. But you're not mad enough to imagine that the murderer will give himself away when he sees Rainger's body down there, are you? The murderer knows it's there."
H. M. regarded him curiously. With a shark-like gulp, and without apparent effort, he swallowed three fingers of neat gin. Then he stared at the glass.
"You still don't see it, do you? Well, never mind. I got some instructions for you too. Better come down with me and take a look at Rainger. I'm afraid The Devil hasn't left much of a signature; but we'll grub round a bit and see. Hey!" He shook Emery's shoulder. "Pull yourself together, son. Yes, and you too. Fine nephew I got, lookin' pale around the gills! When you go down to dinner, act natural! Understand?"
"I'm all right," said Bennett. "But I was just wondering how much dinner you expect a person to eat. Is that included, with your little scheme in front of us? Look here, sir, it's not on the level! It's a damned dirty trick! Pull all the games you like on us, but what about those women? What are they going to feel like when they look down? Louise has had about enough shocks as it is; and you know she's not guilty. You know Kate isn't guilty either. Then what's the use in dangling a dead man in front of them, like a kid with a rubber spider on a wire?"
H. M. set down the glass. He lumbered to the door, and turned only when he beckoned to Masters.
"It's a conjurin' trick," he said, "that I can't explain now. But I've got to do it. And my rubber spider's goin' to bite somebody, son, unless I'm very much mistaken. All I've got to tell you is that you'll let me down badly, and you'll do something that won't be pleasant for you to remember when you see the consequences, if you give a hint to anybody as to what's goin' on. Understand? Anybody. Come on, Masters. "
He opened the door. Mellow and deep through the house, but with something in its note at once of terror and finality, quivered the stroke of the dinner-gong.