“I don’t know how well she knew him. They seemed to be on very friendly terms. She told me he loved entertaining and practically kept open house. He was certainly a most genial host.”
“How did he strike you, Mr. Leigh?”
Justin considered.
“Well, he was what I’ve just said, a genial host. A lot of social charm-all that sort of thing. And enjoying himself. That’s what struck me more than anything else. It was an ill-assorted, uphill party, and it must have been hard work, but I’d swear he was enjoying himself.”
Lamb focussed the stare upon him.
“Just what do you mean by ill-assorted, Mr. Leigh?”
Justin’s charming smile appeared.
“You won’t ask me that after you’ve met them.”
Lamb grunted and let it go.
“Anyone appear to be out of sorts-nervous-out of temper?”
“Well, of course I don’t know what Mr. Tote’s like as a rule, but I suppose you could say he was put out.” He laughed a little. “That’s putting it mildly. He didn’t talk, he didn’t join in any of the games. He looked as if he was in a foul temper, and just sat.”
“Eat his dinner?”
Justin couldn’t help laughing.
“Everything he could get hold of. Porlock has a marvellous cook.”
“Anyone else seem put out?”
“Well, as I said, I don’t know these people. Masterman may go about looking like a death’s head all the time-he was certainly spreading gloom last night. The sister looks as if she hadn’t smiled for years.”
“Mr. Leigh, I’d like to ask you something, but of course you don’t need to answer if you don’t care to. It’s not anything personal. I’d just like to know how Mr. Gregory Porlock struck you. You said he had a lot of what you’d call charm. What I’d like to know is just this-would you have said he was straight?”
Well-would he? He wondered what he would have thought if he hadn’t known what he did. Very difficult to divest yourself of knowledge and decide what your mental processes would have been without it. Once Dorinda had said “He’s the Wicked Uncle,” he couldn’t go back and judge the man as Gregory Porlock. And was he going to tell the Chief Inspector about the Wicked Uncle? He thought not. Dorinda would almost certainly do so-the art of practising a concealment was one to which she would never attain. There was something reposeful in the thought. He decided that she might be left to deal with the Wicked Uncle in her own ingenuous manner. Meanwhile there was no reason why he shouldn’t say what he thought. With no more than what seemed quite an ordinary pause for consideration he replied,
“No, I don’t think I would.”
After a moment or two, during which he appeared to be digesting this answer, Lamb returned to the charge.
“I’d like to ask you something in confidence. These people who were here last night-they were all strangers to you except Miss Lane?”
Justin nodded. “And my cousin, Dorinda Brown.” He wondered what was coming.
“They say lookers-on see most of the game. You’ll understand this isn’t to be talked of, but what I’d like to know is this- would it surprise you to hear that some of these people were being blackmailed?”
“By Porlock?”
“You’ve got it.”
“Well then-no.”
Lamb leaned forward.
“Which would you pick on, Mr. Leigh, if you had to make a guess?”
Justin frowned.
“I don’t think I care about guessing in a murder case.”
Lamb gave a slow, ponderous nod.
“I’ll put it another way. We have evidence that two of the party were being blackmailed. You’ve mentioned two of the party being out of sorts-Mr. Tote and Mr. Masterman. What about the others? Any sign of relations being strained?-with Mr. Porlock I mean. What about Mr. Carroll?”
Justin said, “Carroll is an actor.” The words were no sooner out than he regretted them. He said quickly, “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t like the fellow, but there was nothing to make me say what I did.”
Another of those slow nods.
“That’s all right, Mr. Leigh.”
The questions went on. Everything that had been said or done came under the microscope. Presently it was,
“Did you happen to notice that Miss Lane was wearing a bracelet-could you describe it?”
He could, and did.
“A kind of diamond trellis-panels set with rubies.”
“Valuable?”
“Extremely, I should think.”
“Ever seen it before?”
“No. As a matter of fact, Miss Lane came into the drawing-room before dinner and showed it to us. She said it had been lost, and Porlock had got it back for her. She seemed very grateful.”
“Will you tell me as nearly as possible what was said?”
When he had done so the questions began again. The evening was gone through down to the time of the murder.
“I’d like you to come out into the hall and show me just where you were and what you did.”
Justin had the feeling that he would presently be doing it in his sleep. Abbott timing him, he did just what he had done the night before in the dark, finishing up at the front door with his hand on the light switch.
“And then?” This was Lamb, solid and observant, from the hearth.
“I came down to where Porlock was lying. You’ve got all that in my statement.”
Lamb gave an affirmative grunt.
“And then you rang the bell and told Pearson to send for the police. Now we’ll go back to the study.”
When they had got there he had another question.
“You knelt down by the body?”
“Yes. I felt for his pulse to see if he was dead.”
“He was lying on his face with the handle of the dagger sticking out between his shoulder blades?”
“Yes.”
“Notice anything else-anything peculiar?”
“There was a white patch all round the dagger.”
“Know what it was?”
“I thought it was luminous paint-they’d been using it in the charade.”
“Did you think it could have come there by accident?”
“Not possibly.”
“How did you think it had come there?”
“I thought the murderer had marked him with the paint so as to be sure of getting the right spot in the dark.”
“Now, Mr. Leigh-two questions. Who knew that there was luminous paint in the house, and how soon did they know it?”
“I can’t answer that. It was certainly mentioned at dinner.”
“Will you tell me just what was said?”
Justin told him. Lamb went on.
“Then there were two lots of the stuff. The Oakleys had some to paint a clock, and Porlock had some to paint the beam in the cloakroom-the pot being in the cupboard there, where anyone could have got at it.”
“There was plenty of the stuff about. Carroll had it all over his hands for the charade, and a luminous mask and horns. Miss Lane was dressed up as a nun with a couple of towels and a sheet. Carroll jumped down on her from that table against the stairs. She must have been fairly daubed with the paint. As soon as the lights went on she got out of the stuff she was wearing and threw it on the table. Carroll left his mask there. Anyone could have picked up enough paint to put that mark on Porlock’s back. We were all standing fairly close together round the hearth after the charade was over. Anyone could have done it.”
“And no one noticed it, Mr. Leigh. At least no one admits to having noticed it. Anyone could have done it, and anyone could have taken the dagger, but nobody seems to have noticed that it was missing. I don’t mean to say that there’s anything peculiar about that in a strange house. That’s what strikes me- that it was a strange house. They all say that in their statements except Miss Lane. She was the only one who had ever been here before, and she couldn’t have known about the luminous paint till the middle of dinner. Yet the crime was very carefully planned. The person who planned it was bold, ingenious, quickwitted. He used what was to hand-the dagger, the luminous paint, the charade. It was Miss Lane who proposed the charade, I think?”
“That was really quite an unwarrantable suggestion.” Justin had stiffened a little. He said quietly, “Of all the guests Miss Lane was on the best terms with Porlock.”