"No, miss, there I cannot agree with you," said the Inspector darkly.
"The fact is, anyone could have picked it up without attracting the least attention," she said.
Edgar Mottisfont took instant exception to this. "I don't see that at all!" he said. "Are you suggesting that someone tried to steal Stephen's case? Why should anyone but Stephen have picked it up? We all knew it didn't belong to us!"
Joseph said, as angrily as anyone of his mild temper could: "Edgar, do think before you speak! What - I ask you - are you trying to insinuate? What reason have you to try to stab Stephen in the back?"
"I wasn't trying to stab him in the back!" retorted Mottisfont. "All I said was -"
"What you meant us to infer was obvious!" said Joseph. "I should have thought that after all the years you've known Stephen -"
"I don't say that he stabbed Nat!" said Mottisfont, a spot of colour on his cheekbone. "It's not my business to find out who did that! I'm only saying that the most likely person to have picked up the case was its owner! Of course, I know very well you Herriards always stick together, but I'm not a Herriard - I'm just a plain man, and I object to the fantastic idea you're trying to foster, that someone else pocketed a valuable case which didn't belong to them!"
"Edgar, old friend, if anything I've said gave you the impression that I was in league with Stephen against you -"
"Nothing I have said could have given you that impression," interpolated Stephen.
"Hush, Stephen! - if I've given you that impression, I heartily beg your pardon! I never for one moment meant to insinuate that you had touched the case!"
It was generally felt that Joseph had now surpassed himself; but it was plain, from his guileless countenance, that he had no notion of having said anything that might have been more felicitously expressed. Mathilda would have allowed the matter to rest. Stephen, however, said sardonically: "Why stop there? Whom do you suspect of having taken my case?"
"Stephen! Why will you always take me up wrongly? I don't suspect anyone! Good gracious, how could I possibly -"
"This is the most useless discussion I've ever taken part in!" declared Paula. "Are we to sit up all night while you and Joe make fools of yourselves? I'm tired to death, and I'm going to bed!"
This last announcement was flung at the Inspector's head. He said nothing to dissuade her. He was feeling tired too; he wanted to consider the case quietly; and he , could not think that a prolongation of his investigations into the night-watches would yield any very valuable results. Like many laymen, he had a deep faith in the skill of specialists, and his dependence was now placed on the findings of the police experts. He said formally that he had no further questions to put to anyone.
Valerie at once reiterated her demand to be allowed to go home, and her conviction that she would be unable to sleep a wink if compelled to remain at Lexham. The Inspector, having informed her that her presence was necessary to the conduct of the case, very meanly left her fellow-guests to convince her that a journey to London from Lexham at eleven o'clock on Christmas Eve would be most difficult to accomplish, and rejoined his assistants in the morning-room. Twenty minutes later, the police-cars were heard to start up in the drive, and Valerie, until she discovered that a constable had been left to mount guard over the premises all night, showed signs of recovering her equilibrium.
Maud, whose stagnant calm had been to all outward appearances undisturbed by the shocking events of the day, exasperated everyone by resuming her search for the Life of the Empress of Austria; Paula, saying that she must be alone or go mad, swept upstairs to her room; and Stephen gratified Mathilda, but revolted everyone else, by saying that a drink was clearly called for. Even Joseph said that it did not seem to be quite the moment for carousing: an expression which had the effect of driving everyone else instantly over to Stephen's side. Mottisfont said that he thought they had all earned a drink. Upon reflection, he said that that wasn't quite what he had meant, but when Stephen asked him with false amiability what he had really meant, he found himself unable to explain, and foundered in a morass of unfinished sentences.
Sturry, gathering that his superiors were determined to debauch themselves, apologised in a quelling way for having forgotten, under the stress of circumstances, to bring the usual tray into the drawing-room, and went away to rectify his omission.
Valerie, who had been silent for quite ten minutes, suddenly announced her intention of ringing up her mother. No one put forward any objection, though from the look which descended on to Stephen's face it was generally inferred that he was not in favour of the operation.
When Valerie had left the room, Mathilda moved across to Stephen's side, and asked softly: "Who's the heir?"
He shrugged.
"You?"
"I don't know. Don't think he made a will."
"Joe's been hinting all day that he did."
"Oh -Joe!"
"He ought to know, if anyone does."
"The answer being that no one does. Sorry you've been let in for this."
"Don't waste any pity on me: I've got an unbreakable alibi," she replied lightly. "Far be it from me to cast any aspersions on your word, Stephen, but there is one appeal I should like to address to you in the name of us all."
He looked at her with a suddenly lowering expression on his brow. "Well?"
"If you purloined Maud's book, do for God's sake give it back to her!"
He gave a laugh, but it seemed to her that it was perfunctory. "I haven't got her book."
"Don't quibble!" said Mathilda severely.
"I'm sick of the damned book!" he snapped. "I've already told you once that I don't know where it is!"
He got up, as he spoke, and walked away to the other end of the room. She saw that his nerves were on edge, and was sorry that she had teased him. Sturry came in with a tray of drinks, and set it down on a side-table. Maud asked him if he had seen the book she was reading. Sturry said in a very despising way that he had not noticed it, but would make enquiries.
"It is very unfortunate," stated Maud. "I wish I could remember where I laid it down. I always read for twenty minutes in bed before I put the light out. It is very calming to the mind. I had just got to the part about Rudolph. The one who committed suicide."
"What do you find so calming about that?" asked Stephen, over his shoulder.
"It takes one's mind off things," she answered vaguely.
It said much for Joseph's kindliness, Mathilda thought, that with no more than a sigh, immediately suppressed, he got up from his chair, and offered to help in the search for the book. Mathilda was afraid that he would ask Stephen for it, but although he did glance speculatively at that unresponsive profile he appeared to feel the moment to be unpropitious, and said nothing. It seemed rather unfair that he, upon whom the brunt of the evening's burden had fallen, should be obliged to undertake a singularly futile search single-handed, so Mathilda got up, and offered to assist him. Maud thanked her placidly, and went back to her seat by the fire.
"She might have put it down in the billiard-room," Mathilda suggested. "She came in there just before tea, didn't she?"
The billiard-room yielded no clue to the book's whereabouts, but the sight of the Christmas tree, glittering under the lights, brought home to Mathilda and to Joseph the gruesome nature of the events of the day.