“Yes, easily, I should imagine. Why should—oh! To take that tube away, and burn it!” She looked round, puzzled. “But no one did. Then—then it looks as though it wasn't anyone living in the house, doesn't it?”
“We don't know that Fielding didn't try,” said Guy. “But he didn't get the chance, because Beecher went up to uncle's room with him.”
“I'm sure it wasn't Deryk,” answered Stella shortly.
“Well, what about Randall?” said Guy. “Just as a matter of interest, dear cousin Randall, what were you doing on the landing that day I found you talking to Stella at the top of the stairs?”
“Just talking to Stella at the top of the stairs, dear cousin Guy,” replied Randall blandly.
“Stella, what had he been up to?”
Stella glanced fleetingly at Randall, and saw that he was watching her with a faint smile. “I don't know,” she said. “You had better ask him. Anyway, Randall hadn't been near the house for days” — She stopped, and her eyes widened.
“Exactly!” said Guy triumphantly. “Randall hadn't been near the house for days, and therefore Randall never even came under suspicion. But the poison could have been put into the toothpaste at any time, and none of Randall's perfect alibis exist any longer. He hasn't got an alibi!”
Chapter Fourteen
Everyone but Stella looked at Randall. Stella cried hotly: “You're a rotten little cad, Guy! Randall never tried to cast suspicion on to you! Randall's said every spiteful, low-down thing —”
“Yes, because half the time we asked for it! But he didn't try and do the dirty on you, and you know it!”
“What the devil's the matter with you?” demanded Guy, surprised into forgetfulness of his surroundings. “You yourself said he was an amiable snake!”
A low laugh escaped the subject of this argument. “My sweet, did you really?” said Randall. “What a classic phrase!”
“I daresay I did once, but —”
“Oh, don't take it back!” said Randall. “I like it. And don't bite your little brother's head off either. That isn't a bit necessary. It is perfectly true—one might say obvious—that I have no alibi, but then Superintendent Hannasyde, who is quite as quick in the uptake as Guy, if not quicker, probably realised that for himself some time ago. If you look carefully at him you will observe a slight hint of annoyance—one might almost say chagrin—in his face. That is because he, unlike Guy, has also realised that my entry into the ranks of suspects hasn't eliminated all other suspects, but has merely enlarged the field.”
Hannasyde had listened to this with an unmoved countenance. He said in his impersonal way: “That is quite true, Mr Matthews. But at the same time —”
“Moreover,” continued Randall, lighting another cigarette, “you have no better case against me than you have against anyone else. It is true that I have inherited quite a lot of money, but the most cursory investigation into my affairs will convince you (in spite of the belief current amongst my relations that I have run through a fortune) that I stand in no need of my uncle's money.”
“That may also be true,” said Hannasyde. “Nor do I propose to go into the matter with you at this particular moment.”
Randall looked round the room. “No, there is rather a crowd,” he agreed. “Stella, my lamb, let us withdraw, and perhaps that will put it into Aunt Gertrude's head that she is not really wanted here.”
He clasped his fingers round her wrist as he spoke, and drew her towards the door. Sergeant Hemingway looked quickly at the Superintendent, but Hannasyde made no sign. Mrs Lupton began to say that she expected nothing but rudeness from Randall, but before she could finish her severe and well-worded speech he had gone.
In the hall he paused, and looked down at Stella, the smile lingering about the corners of his mouth. “Well, my love?” he said. “Why didn't you tell the police that you found me coming out of uncle's bathroom?”
“I don't know,” said Stella childishly.
“Let us go into the morning-room,” he said. “I have a much worse question coming.”
Stella allowed herself to be led into the morning-room, but said: “Well, only for a minute, then. I—I can't stop long.”
Randall paid no heed to this. He shut the door, and said quite gravely: “Why did you run to me as though I were your one hope of deliverance, Stella?”
She blushed. “Oh, I didn't! I mean—you told me you'd see the thing through, and—and I thought you might help us. I was a bit upset.” She gave a nervous little laugh. “Sorry I clutched your beautiful coat!”
The smile had gone; there was not even a gleam of mockery lurking beneath those long lashes. “My coat did not matter,” said Randall.
“Oh! Well, one wouldn't have said so, considering the way you —”
“My dear, did you think I was going to let you give yourself away with all our relations present?”
“Give myself—!” Stella broke off, choking. “I don't know what you think you're talking about, but —”
“Don't dither, my sweet. Tell me, is my grey hall an insuperable bar to matrimony?”
“Yes!” said Stella hurriedly. “I mean —”
“I suppose I shall have to let you redecorate it as you like then,” replied Randall. “But I do stipulate that Guy shall not be allowed to have a hand in it.”
Stella, whose brain was whirling, said in an uncertain voice: “I don't call this particularly funny. It may be your idea of a joke, but it isn't mine.”
Randall took her hands. “I'm not joking, darling. I'm asking you to marry me. Will you?”
“No, of c-course not!” said Stella, wondering why her knees had begun to shake.
Randall held her hands for a minute longer, and then let them go and moved away towards the door. Stella looked after him with deep misgiving. “Are—are you going?” she faltered.
“As you see.”
“But—but you can't leave me—us—like this!”
“Which do you mean?” asked Randall. “Me, or us?”
“Us! All of us! You can't surely —”
“Oh yes, I can!” said Randall coolly, and laid his hand on the door-knob.
Stella said in some agitation: “I'm not going to be blackmailed into marrying you!”
He turned his head, and surveyed her enigmatically. “What do you want?” he asked. “If you are worrying about your mother's probable arrest, let me assure you that the police are now far more likely to arrest me.”
“I'm not! I mean, it isn't only that! Oh, Randall, don't be such a vile beast!”
“I don't think much of that,” he said critically. “Amiable snake was far better.”
Stella hunted for her handkerchief, and said, sniffing: “Yes, I've no doubt you'll throw that up at me for the rest of my life. I can't imagine what possessed you to propose to me.”
“Well, that will give you something to puzzle over any time you can't sleep,” said Randall.
“You know perfectly well you don't really want to marry me!”
An expression of weary boredom descended on to Randall's face. He leaned his shoulders against the door, and said: “Do I have to make a reply to that utterly fatuous remark?”
“You think I'm fatuous, and stupid, and haven't any taste, and then you expect me to believe you want to marry me! It doesn't make sense! There's no point in discussing it, even!”
“You may have noticed,” drawled Randall, “that I am making no attempt to discuss it.”
Stella threw him a goaded look. “I'm perfectly willing to be friends with you —”
“Yes, I've no doubt,” said Randall, “but I am not in the least willing to be friends with you.”
“Very well, then, go!” said Stella, turning her back on him, and staring blindly out of the window. “I don't c-care!”
The door opened, and then shut again. Stella gave a despairing sob, and wept silently into her handkerchief.
“You'd better have mine, darling: it's larger,” said Randall's soft voice just behind her.
Stella jumped, and quavered: “S-snake! I loathe and detest you!”
“I know you do,” said Randall, taking her in his arms, and quite firmly possessing himself of her handkerchief.