"Better get her up to bed," Sir Rowland advised. "She'll be safe now." Gently shaking the child, Clarissa said softly, "Come on, Pippa. Ups-a-daisy. Time you were in bed."
Pippa got up, waveringly. "I'm hungry," she murmured.
"Yes, yes, I'm sure you are," Clarissa assured her as she led her to the hall door. "Come on, we'll see what we can find."
"Good night, Pippa," Sir Rowland called to her, and was rewarded with a yawned "Goo' night" as Clarissa and Pippa left the room. He sat down at the bridge table and had begun to put the playing cards in their box when Hugo came in from the hall.
"God bless my soul," Hugo exclaimed. "I'd never have believed it. Young Warrender, of all people. He seemed a decent-enough young fellow. Been to a good school. Knew all the right people."
"But was quite willing to commit murder for the sake of fourteen thousand pounds," Sir Rowland observed suavely. "It happens now and then, Hugo, in every class of society. An attractive personality, and no moral sense."
Mrs. Brown, the former Miss Peake, stuck her head around the hall door. "I thought I'd just tell you, Sir Rowland," she announced, reverting to her familiar booming voice, "I've got to go along to the police station. They want me to make a statement. They're not too pleased at the trick I played on them. I'm in for a wigging, I'm afraid."
She roared with laughter, withdrew, and slammed the door shut.
Hugo watched her go, then went over to join Sir Rowland at the bridge table. "You know, Roly, I still don't quite get it," he admitted. "Was Miss Peake Mrs. Sellon, or was Mr. Sellon Mr. Brown? Or the other way round?"
Sir Rowland was saved from having to reply by the return of the Inspector, who came into the room to pick up his cap and gloves. "We're removing the body now, gentlemen," he informed them both. He paused momentarily before adding, "Sir Rowland, would you mind advising Mrs. Hailsham-Brown that, if she tells these fancy stories to the police, one day she'll get into real trouble."
"She did actually tell you the truth once, you know, Inspector," Sir Rowland reminded him gently, "but on that occasion you simply wouldn't believe her."
The Inspector looked a trifle embarrassed. "Yes... hmmm... well," he began. Then, pulling himself together, he said, "Frankly, sir, it was a bit difficult to swallow, you'll admit."
"Oh, I admit that, certainly," Sir Rowland assured him.
"Not that I blame you, sir," the Inspector went on in a confidential tone. "Mrs. Hailsham-Brown is a lady who has a very taking way with her." He shook his head reflectively, then "Well, good night, sir," he said.
"Good night, Inspector," Sir Rowland replied amiably.
"Good night, Mr. Birch," the Inspector called, backing towards the hall door.
"Good night, Inspector, and well done," Hugo responded, coming over to him and shaking hands.
"Thank you, sir," said the Inspector.
He left, and Hugo yawned. "Oh, well, I suppose I'd better be going home to bed," he announced to Sir Rowland. "Some evening, eh?"
"As you say, Hugo, some evening," Sir Rowland replied, tidying the bridge table as he spoke. "Good night."
"Good night," Hugo responded, and made his way out into the hall.
Sir Rowland left the cards and markers in a neat pile on the table, then picked up Who's Who and replaced it on the bookshelves. Clarissa came in from the hall, went over to him and put her hands on his arms. "Darling Roly," she addressed him. "What would we have done without you? You are so clever."
"And you are a very lucky young woman," he told her. "It's a good thing you didn't lose your heart to that young villain, Warrender."
Clarissa shuddered. "There was no danger of that," she replied. Then, smiling tenderly, "If I lost my heart to anybody, darling, it would be to you," she assured him.
"Now, now, none of your tricks with me," Sir Rowland warned her, laughing. "If you – "
He stopped short as Henry Hailsham-Brown suddenly entered the room through the French windows, and Clarissa gave a startled exclamation. "Henry!"
"Hello, Roly," Henry greeted his friend. "I thought you were going to the club tonight."
"Well... er... I thought I'd turn in early," was all that Sir Rowland felt capable of saying at that moment. "It's been rather a strenuous evening."
Henry looked at the bridge table. "What? Strenuous bridge?" he inquired playfully.
Sir Rowland smiled. "Bridge and... er... other things," he replied as he went to the hall door. "Good night, all."
Clarissa blew him a kiss and he blew one to her in return as he left the room. Then Clarissa turned to Henry. "Where's Kalendorff – I mean, where's Mr. Jones?" she asked urgently.
Henry put his brief-case on the sofa. In a voice of weary disgust he muttered, "It's absolutely infuriating. He didn't come."
"What?" Clarissa could hardly believe her ears.
"The plane arrived with nothing but a half-baked aide-de-camp in it," Henry told her, unbuttoning his overcoat as he spoke.
Clarissa helped him off with the coat, and Henry continued, "The first thing he did was to turn round and fly back again where he'd come from."
"What on earth for?"
"How do I know?" Understandably, Henry sounded somewhat on edge. "He was suspicious, it seems. Suspicious of what? Who knows?"
"But what about Sir John?" Clarissa asked as she removed Henry's hat from his head.
"That's the worst of it," he groaned. "I was too late to stop him, and he'll be arriving down here any minute now, I expect." Henry consulted his watch. "Of course, I rang up Downing Street at once from the aerodrome, but he'd already started out. Oh, the whole thing's a most ghastly fiasco."
Henry sank onto the sofa with a weary sigh, and as he did so the telephone rang. "I'll answer it," Clarissa said, crossing the room to do so. "It may be the police." She lifted the receiver.
Henry looked at her questioningly. "The police?"
"Yes, this is Copplestone Court," Clarissa was saying into the telephone. "Yes... yes, he's here." She looked across at Henry. "It's for you, darling," she told him. "It's Bindley Heath Aerodrome."
Henry rose and began to rush across to the phone, but half-way over he stopped and proceeded at a dignified walk. "Hello," he said into the receiver.
Clarissa went out to the hall with Henry's hat and coat but returned immediately and stood behind him.
"Yes... speaking," Henry announced. "What?... Ten minutes later?... Shall I?... Yes... Yes, yes... No... No, no... You have?... I see... Yes... Right."
He replaced the receiver, shouted "Clarissa!" and then turned to find that she was right behind him. "Oh! There you are. Apparently another plane came in just ten minutes after the first, and Kalendorff was on it."
"Mr. Jones, you mean," Clarissa reminded him.
"Quite right, darling. One can't be too careful," he acknowledged. "Yes, it seems that the first plane was a kind of security precaution. Really, one can't fathom how these people's minds work. Well, anyway, they're sending... er... Mr. Jones over here now with an escort. He'll be here in about a quarter of an hour. Now then, is everything all right? Everything in order?" He looked at the bridge table. "Do get rid of those cards, will you, darling?"
Clarissa hurriedly collected the cards and markers and put them out of sight, while Henry went to the stool and picked up the sandwich plate and mousse dish with an air of great surprise. "What's on earth's this?" he wanted to know.
Rushing over to him, Clarissa seized the plate and dish. "Pippa was eating it," she explained. "I'll take it away. And I'd better go and make some more ham sandwiches."
"Not yet – these chairs are all over the place." Henry's tone was slightly reproachful. "I thought you were going to have everything ready, Clarissa."
He began to fold the legs of the bridge table. "What have you been doing all the evening?" he asked her as he carried the bridge table off to the library.