Timothy grinned at him appreciatively. "Did you find me easy to get rid of when I was fourteen, Chief. Inspector?" he asked.
"No, sir, I did not, but I warned you things were different now! I can get rid of you fast enough."
"Oh, no, you can't!" retorted Timothy. "I'm Miss Birtley's legal adviser!"
This cool announcement had the effect of jerking Beulah's head up, and of causing Mrs. Haddington to look sharply first at her, and then at Timothy.
Beulah said in a disjointed way: "No, no! I don't need - I don't want - I'd much prefer that you didn't!"
"Yes, you would think up a crack like that, wouldn't you, sir?" said Hemingway. "All right, you stay! You won't worry me. And since you're here you may as well make yourself useful, and tell me who everyone is, so that the Inspector here needn't wait about any longer."
Inspector Pershore, who appeared to be more sensitive to suggestion than Mr. Harte, said: "If you have no further need of me, sir -"
"No, that's all, thank you, Inspector. I shall be seeing you later, I daresay," replied Hemingway affably.
The Inspector then withdrew, and Timothy made the remaining five persons present known to Hemingway. He favoured each in turn with his keen, bright look, but singled out Dr Westruther, saying: "You'll be wanting to get off home, doctor, and I'm not going to keep you. I think Inspector Pershore asked you everything, and I know where to get hold of you, if any point should arise that you might be able to help us over. I understand you were with Dr Yoxall when he inspected the body, and there wasn't any disagreement between you?"
"There could hardly have been any in this case," said the doctor. "Death must have occurred within a matter of seconds."
"Just so, sir! And Mr. Poulton is anxious to get home too, so I think it would be best if I asked him a few questions first. Now, sir, if you'll be so good!"
Godfrey Poulton, rising in a leisurely way from his chair, said: "Certainly, Chief Inspector," in his deep, rather cold voice, and followed Hemingway from the room.
"No objection to coming in here, I trust, sir," said Hemingway, opening the door into the boudoir. "It seems to be the only room that isn't full of playing-cards or prawn-patties."
"I have no objection, since I assume that -" Mr. Poulton paused, allowing his eye to fall upon the chair by the telephone. "Precisely," he said.
"Oh, no, that's all right!" Hemingway said, understanding his cryptic utterance. "I don't think I shall be keeping you for many minutes either, sir." He saw that Poulton was looking at his second-in-command, and said: "Inspector Grant. Sit down, sir! I understand you left the library at some time during Mr. Seaton-Carew's absence from it. I think I have all that in Inspector Pershore's notes. Was the deceased a friend of yours?"
Poulton shrugged. "Hardly that. I suppose I've met him half a dozen times."
The Chief Inspector, before entering the drawingroom, had read Pershore's voluminous notes, and he had an excellent memory for relative detail. "Did he visit your house, sir?"
"I daresay," Poulton replied, his heavy-lidded eyes dwelling indifferently on the Chief Inspector's face. "My wife entertains a great deal, but I am a very busy man, and I am not invariably present at her parties."
"Quite so, sir. Mr. Seaton-Carew was Lady Nest's friend rather than yours?"
"It would be more accurate to say that he was an acquaintance of hers. My wife originally met him through her friendship with Mrs. Haddington."
"Were you on good terms with him, sir?"
Again Poulton shrugged. "Certainly - though that's a somewhat exaggerated way of describing it. If you mean, had I quarrelled with him - No. If, on the other hand, you mean, did I like the man? Again, no."
"It's a funny thing about this Seaton-Carew," remarked Hemingway, "that he seems to have been a popular sort of a character, and yet he got himself murdered."
"Very funny," agreed Poulton. "Perhaps you are confusing popularity with usefulness. Unattached men, Chief Inspector, are greatly in demand amongst hostesses."
"Ah, very likely!" said Hemingway. "Well, it doesn't seem as though you can help me much, sir, so I won't keep you any longer."
Inspector Grant rose, and opened the door.
"Thank you," said Poulton. "I shall be glad to get to bed. I have a heavy day ahead of me. Good-night!"
The Inspector closed the door behind him, and glanced across at his superior. "You did not press him, Sir."
"No, I'm never one to waste my time. If you were to have given Mr. Godfrey Poulton the choice between having a sewer-rat loose in his house or the late Seaton-Carew, it's my belief he'd have chosen the rat. Make a note of Lady Nest: we'll see what she has to say. I'd better interview this Butterwick now. Fetch him down, Sandy!"
The Inspector lingered. "Would that one have had the time to have committed the murder, you think?"
"Any of them would have had time and to spare. In fact, this is one case where the time-factor isn't going to bother us - or help us either, for that matter! As far as I can make out, it was anything from ten to twenty minutes between Seaton-Carew's being called to the 'phone and Sir Roderick's finding him dead. How long do you reckon it would take you to nip up half a flight of stairs, twist a wire round a bloke's neck, and nip down again?"
"It is in my mind," said the Inspector, "that it would have been a strange thing for him to have gone into a room where he knew a man to be speaking on the telephone."
"You mean you think it would have put Seaton-Carew on his guard. It might, and it mightn't. Of course, if Seaton-Carew had reason to think Poulton wanted to do him in, I agree that you'd expect to find some sign of a struggle. Supposing he hadn't? Supposing this Poulton-bird walked in, just said, "Excuse me!" as though he'd just come to fetch something?"
"Och, mo thruaighe!" exclaimed the Inspector. "What would he have come there to fetch, tell me that?"
"By the time Seaton-Carew had thought that one up," retorted Hemingway, "the wire was round his throat! Mind, I don't say it happened like that, but even if it didn't there's no need for you to make those noises, which I take to be highly insubordinate. Go and fetch that pansy down to me!"
Mr. Sydney Butterwick, ushered into the boudoir a few minutes later, flinched perceptibly, but seemed to have himself fairly well in hand. His face still bore traces of the emotions which had ravaged it, but he was able to smile, albeit a little nervously, at Hemingway, and to assure him that if he could possibly be of assistance to the police they could count upon his cooperation.
"I was devoted to Dan!" he said. "Utterly devoted to him! I suppose anyone will tell you that. In some ways, you know, he was rather a marvellous person. Slow extravert, of course, and I'm definitely a quick extravert, but with a certain amount of overlap, if you know what I mean. I suppose you might call me an intuitive extravert. I'd better tell you at once that I wasn't in the least blind about Dan! In fact, I recognised and accepted him for what he was. In some ways, I do absolutely agree that he was just a handsome brute, and I shan't deny for one moment that I used to quarrel with him quite terribly. As a matter of fact he upset me rather poignantly tonight, and it's the most ghastly thought that the last time I saw him I was furious with him! Well, not so much furious as wounded. Of course, I know I take things to heart too much: my type always does - I don't know if you've read Jung?"