This overture was watched with an air of amused detachment by Mrs Moldham-Clegg, who sat very erect beside a window. The light, crossing her face at an angle, rendered it lined as an old map. She held some lemon-coloured crochet work on her lap and occasionally glanced down to add another loop. Idle hands had never been encouraged on the Moldhams’ distaff side.
“I believe,” Purbright began, “that you know why Inspector Bradley and I are here.” He was looking at Colonel Moldham, who was sitting on the edge of the oval table. Moldham compressed his lips and examined the nail of one finger.
“The colonel is aware of your purpose, inspector,” said Mr Loughbury. “I am here, of course, on his behalf, so if there are any questions you wish to put to him—or to Mrs Moldham-Clegg—I’m sure you will not object to my clients exercising the right to confer with me before replying.”
“Not at all, sir,” said Purbright. He glanced at Mrs Moldham-Clegg. “As a matter of fact, there are one or two points we should like to clear up first.”
The solicitor gave a small but magnanimous bow.
“Did you, Mrs Moldham-Clegg, ever suffer the loss—by theft or any other cause—of a fairly valuable necklace, a small green necklace?”
Mr Loughbury looked with concern at the colonel’s aunt. She frowned. “A necklace?”
“Yes, ma’am. Or collar. Of something called Alexandrite.”
She looked at Mr Loughbury. “He sounds quite a geologist.” To Purbright she said: “I have no idea what Alexandrite is. And to the best of my recollection I have never lost any necklaces. Or collars,” she added.
“The necklace in question was a twenty-first birthday present from your parents,” Purbright persisted.
Again the solicitor looked at the old woman as if warning her to make careful reply, but she seemed not to notice him.
“Oh, that. Heavens, that was dim, dim ages ago. A girlhood trinket. Whatever do you want to know about that?”
“Do you still have the necklace?” Bradley asked.
“Of course not. Don’t be tiresome.”
Mr Loughbury intervened. “That would seem to dispose of the matter, inspector. My clients have been under some strain; do you think we could dispense with these comparatively trivial inquiries for the moment?”
“No, sir,” said Purbright, flatly. “I should like to know if Mrs Moldham-Clegg’s necklace was ever stolen and, if not, how it was disposed of.”
The solicitor raised his hand before the old woman could reply. “I think,” he said, “that my client should know the reason for your question before she answers.”
“Very well, sir. We believe that a necklace which has come to light during our inquiries into Mr O’Dwyer’s death originally belonged to Mrs Moldham-Clegg. It is important to know how it came to change hands. If it was stolen, the lady is entitled to recover it, naturally.”
Rich Dick turned to Mrs Moldham-Clegg and raised his brows.
She looked critically at her crochet for a moment, and said: “Nothing, inspector, was ever stolen from anybody in this house. As for the necklace you are making such a fuss about, it was probably sent to a charity sale, or even given to one of the servants. I really cannot remember.”
“To your coachman, perhaps?”
She gave a little one-sided smile. “Even to the coachman, yes. Although I find it hard to believe that he wore it himself.”
Bradley smiled with the rest and had nothing but polite and kindly interest in his voice when he asked: “Might not such a gift have been in consideration of a favour on Mr Arnold’s part?”
Before the solicitor could voice the indignation that was so dearly evidenced on his face, Mrs Moldham-Clegg remarked to Purbright: “Your colleague seems to have a certain vulgarity of approach. I’m sure that Mr Chubb would not much care for it.”
Bradley looked smug, as if savouring a compliment.
“Can’t we,” appealed Rich Dick, “get to the main purpose of your presence here, Purbright? The colonel has been very patient.”
Bruce Moldham was, in fact, looking not so much patient as sleepily indifferent. Love had no difficulty in surmising an appropriate cause: his mind already was organizing a search for the empty phial in the bathroom and a call for an ambulance with stomach pump.
“Very well, sir,” Purbright said. “I propose to put certain questions to the colonel. He must understand that he need not say anything unless he wishes, but that what he does say will be noted by the sergeant and may be given in evidence.”
“Yes, yes, naturally,” came immediately from the squire, who testily waved down an attempt by Loughbury to act as interpreter.
Purbright glanced at some notes. “When you came to the police station on Sunday, colonel, you were asked if you had killed the man known as Francis Dean O’Dwyer. You denied this, but admitted having fired your shotgun twice in order to frighten off an unidentified intruder. Do you wish now to change that version of what happened?”
Rich Dick leaned towards his client, but before he could say anything, Colonel Moldham replied directly to Purbright.
“It is not my custom to go back on what I have said, inspector. I did concede on Sunday, if you remember, that my having shot the man was, as I put it, a possibility. It was dark, and he might have got slightly peppered. If so, I regret it, of course. But I am quite sure that I did not kill him.”
“When you say slightly peppered, sir, would that be a fair definition of two charges of gunshot, one on each side of the head?”
“My client is not here in the capacity of a gunnery expert,” put in Rich Dick. “On my advice, he will not reply.”
Purbright waited a moment, then asked: “Do you maintain, sir, that the man you encountered was subsequently able to run to his car, which you heard being driven away?”
“He ran off, yes. As I said.”
“Can you suggest, in that case, how his body got into the river, where it was found on Saturday?”
Loughbury again intervened. “My client cannot reasonably be asked to speculate upon matters of which he knows nothing.”
“Do you confirm, colonel, that the shotgun which my officers took away on Sunday was your property and that no other firearm was or is kept on these premises?”
“Certainly I do.”
Purbright glanced at Love’s note-taking, then at Bradley, who closed his eyes and gave a little shake of the head, and finally at Mr Loughbury.
“Is that all, inspector?” the solicitor asked.
Purbright took a deep breath and faced the colonel.
“Bruce Pendamon Moldham, I must tell you that I am now going to arrest you and take you to Flaxborough police headquarters, where you will be charged with the murder by shooting between July 27th and July 28th this year of Dean Francis O’Dwyer, whom you may otherwise know under the name...”