“And when you left the hall… Wait a minute, what sort of lock have you got on that front door? Does it lock itself when it’s shut?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then Mr. Clayton wouldn’t have had to use the key to lock it when he went out.”
“Yes, sir, he would.”
“How’s that?”
“The old lock was still in use, sir. This one wasn’t put on till afterwards.”
March whistled.
“What was the key like?”
“A big old-fashioned key.”
“Well, let’s get back to you leaving the hall. Was the front door locked then?”
Robbins stared.
“Mr. Henry would lock it after him, I suppose.”
“Was it still locked when you came back? Did you try it before you put up the chain?”
“Yes, it was locked.”
“And from that time onwards the chain was up until- when did you open the door?”
“I couldn’t open it, sir. I must have fallen asleep in my chair, because I heard twelve strike, and when I woke up it was striking six. The door was locked and the chain was up. I waited till eight o’clock, and then I informed Mr. Pilgrim. We couldn’t open the door because the key was missing with Mr. Henry. We had to have the locksmith to it; and a new lock and key.”
Miss Silver gave her slight cough.
“Did you try the door before you went to speak to your wife?”
“No, miss.”
“Then how do you know that Mr. Clayton locked it afterwards?”
“That’s what he took the key for.”
“But you don’t know that he used it-do you? You have just said that he was inclined to be heedless. His mind was full of going to see Miss Freyne, he might very well take the key and forget to lock the door-or consider that it was not necessary to lock it, since he did not intend to be very long. That is possible, is it not?”
For the first time Robbins shifted his position, sat a little farther back in his chair, and set a hand on either knee. His face showed nothing. The right hand moved on the stuff of his suit. Frank Abbott thought, “She thinks someone went after him and brought him back. If anyone did that, the door must have been open-Henry couldn’t have locked it. That’s the only time Henry could have got back into the house without being seen, that somewhere between five and ten minutes while Robbins was away-unless it’s Robbins who called him back, Robbins who did him in. In which case he never left the hall at all-though why he should let Henry go out into the street and then call him back and knife him is just one of those things that don’t make sense. He couldn’t know that Lesley would be looking out of the window. I can’t make head or tail of it. I wonder if Maudie can.”
He heard Robbins say, “I don’t know, miss,” and he heard Miss Silver take him up.
“Robbins, no one would call you deaf, but I have noticed that your hearing is not at all acute. If Mr. Clayton had locked that door, you would not, I think, have heard the sound of the key turning?”
After a pause he said, “No.”
“You are not accustomed to hearing that sound, so you would not miss it. In fact you would not have known-you did not know-that Mr. Clayton ever locked the door.”
There was a longer pause. Then he said, “No,” again.
The questions went on, but they brought out no fresh evidence. Just at the end Miss Silver asked one which seemed quite irrelevant. “You served in the last war, did you not? Were you in France, or did you go out to the East at all?”
He said in a surprised voice,
“I was a Territorial, miss. I got sent to India.”
She inclined her head.
“I remember-Territorial regiments were sent out there. You were there for the duration, I suppose?”
“Yes, miss. Mr. Pilgrim kept my place open, and I come back to it.”
As Robbins turned to leave the room, March called him back.
“Ever see this before?”
He was taking a key out of the piece of brown paper in which it had been wrapped. When it was free he laid it down on a sheet of paper-a handsome and distinctive piece of work, beautifully wrought with three lobes and a cockle shell in each.
Robbins stared at it gloomily and said,
“Yes, sir.”
“Old front-door key?”
“Yes.” He paused, and added, “May I ask where it was found, sir?”
March looked at him very straight.
“Where do you think?”
“I suppose we could all make a guess, sir, but it isn’t a matter for guessing.”
“No-quite right, Robbins. It was found in Mr. Clayton’s pocket.”
chapter 23
The first Judy saw of Frank Abbott was when she met him in the upstair corridor. They stood and looked at each other for a moment before he said,
“March wants to interview Miss Janetta. I told him she’d want notice.” There was a fleeting spark of amusement. “There was an old lady in Dickens who expired murmuring ‘Rose-coloured curtains for the doctors,’ wasn’t there? Perhaps she was an ancestress.”
“Miss Janetta isn’t dying,” said Judy demurely. Then all of a sudden she shuddered. “Don’t talk about people dying-I just can’t bear it.”
“Well, she isn’t going to. You’ve just said so.”
He put an arm round her, took her along to the big empty state bedroom, and shut the door. When he had done that he put his other arm round her too and kissed her a good many times.
“Silly-aren’t you?” he said in an odd unsteady voice.
“It’s been horrid-”
“My child, I told you so, but you would come.”
He kissed her again. This time she pushed him away.
“Frank-who did it? Do they know?”
“Not yet. Look here, Judy, I want you to clear out.”
“I can’t.”
“Oh, yes, you can. You can come and do your work, but I won’t have you here at night. I’ll fix it up with Lesley Freyne-she’ll take you in.”
She said, “Penny is there. That’s all that matters.”
“Well, you matter to me. I’ll fix it for you.”
“No-I won’t go. I’m next to Miss Silver, and I can lock my door. Besides, who’s going to want to murder me?” Another of those shudders ran over her. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going.”
He said soberly, “I think you’re being stupid. If Jerome gets one of his attacks, you have a bad night. I hear he had one a couple of nights ago.”
“He didn’t have one last night.”
“Perhaps they gave him something to keep him quiet.”
“So they did the other night, but he had one just the same.”
He looked at her attentively.
“What was supposed to set him off?”
“Seeing Miss Freyne.” Judy’s voice was quite expressionless.
“He has one after seeing Lesley, but he doesn’t have one after Roger falls out of the window, and he doesn’t have one after they find Henry’s body. Does that seem odd to you?”
“Very odd.”
He kissed her again, lightly this time, and turned to the door.
“I mustn’t dally. There are moments when being a policeman palls. Go in and ask Miss Janetta when she will be ready to see March. And it’s no good her saying she isn’t well or anything like that, because he means to see her, and Daly won’t back her up.”
He waited, and he had to wait some time, but in the end she came out to say that Miss Janetta would see Superintendent March in twenty minutes, and she hoped that he would make his visit as short as possible, as she was feeling terribly prostrated.
Frank Abbott got back to the study to find Lesley Freyne there. She gave him her hand and a friendly smile, and he thought, as he always thought, what a nice woman she was, and what a pity she hadn’t married and had a pack of children of her own instead of having to make do with evacuees. Of course it was very nice for the evacuees.
He went to his place, took up his pad, and wrote down an interminable string of questions and answers. Sometimes he could have flinched for her, but she kept her quiet dignity and gave no sign, however near the quick the question must have cut. March was as considerate as he could be, but he had his duty to do, and to establish a motive for Henry Clayton’s death was part of that duty.