Aware not only from the Chief-Inspector’s rebuke but also from the way his friends were staring at him that he had let himself be shown in a rather unattractive light, the Vicar now hastened to retrieve his composure.
‘Oh well … in that case, Mr Trub – I mean, Inspector Trub – that’s to say, Chief-Inspector Trub. Trubshawe! I suppose if you really think …’
‘Yes, Vicar, I do. I really do,’ the policeman nimbly cut in. ‘However –’ he began to add.
‘Yes? You say however?’ the Vicar once more interrupted him, and this time his already squeaky voice came perilously close to cracking.
‘However, I say – in the light of Miss Mount’s account of last night’s events, an account with which, I noted, not one of you present – you yourself included, Vicar – chose to take issue, I feel duty-bound to advise you that the phrase “as painless as possible” shouldn’t be construed to mean that our conversation will be totally, ah, pain-free. You do realise I’m going to have to ask you some very probing – indeed, some very personal – questions?’
‘Oh dear, I – I just don’t know whether –’
‘Questions,’ pursued Trubshawe, who was no longer prepared to be put off his stride by the clergyman’s interjections, ‘that, had I been assigned to this case in an official capacity, I would be asking you teat-a-teat, as the Frogs say, in the privacy of your own home or in a police station. But since everyone, you again included, fell in with the Doctor’s proposal that my interrogation, which, I repeat, is wholly informal –’
Now it was Cora Rutherford’s turn to interrupt.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Trubshawe, we know all that!’ she snapped. ‘Do stop blethering, will you!’
‘Patience, dear lady, patience,’ Trubshawe calmly retorted. ‘When it comes, as it will, to your own turn, you may not be quite so desirous to have things rushed. The fact is that my presence is extremely irregular, and I wish to make sure you all understand that no one is actually, legally, obliged to undergo questioning here and now.’
‘But, I tell you, we do understand!’
‘Also,’ he went on unperturbed, ‘that, if you do agree to be questioned, then, notwithstanding the fact that you aren’t under oath, there’s simply no point to the exercise if you end by telling me less than the unvarnished truth – or at least what you sincerely believe to be the unvarnished truth. Aren’t I right? You do see what I’m driving at, Vicar?’
Clem Wattis bristled at what he clearly felt was a slander on his character.
‘Well, really! I must protest – I really must lodge a protest, Chief-Inspector. You appear to be singling me out in an offensively gratuitous fashion!’
‘Please, please, Mr Wattis, let me assure you. No offence was intended. If I put it to you in particular, it’s only because you’re the one who’s going to set the ball rolling.’
The Vicar was now so flustered that beads of sweat glistened atop his bald head and his owlish horn-rimmed glasses were starting to cloud over.
‘Oh well, if you – if you insist. After all, as a man of the cloth, I’m bound to tell the truth anyway. I mean, I’m bound by a higher authority than yours.’
‘Yes, yes, of course, I quite understand. So shall we …?’
‘Uh huh,’ said the Vicar unhappily.
‘Good,’ said the Chief-Inspector. ‘Now – I’d like to start by inviting you to relate your own experience of the Christmas dinner party. The way Miss Mount described it – that, for you, was substantially accurate, was it?’
Clem Wattis shot a quick, helpless glance at his wife. She said nothing, but, with nervously rocking little nods of her head, appeared to be encouraging him to speak up. It couldn’t have been easy for her, however, knowing as she did what was in store for him, and her lips were pursed so tight you felt that, if she were to relax them, her whole face would unravel.
‘Well, Inspector – oh dear, I keep getting it wrong, don’t I? – I mean, Chief-Inspector –’
‘That’s quite all right, Reverend. As I say, I’m retired, so my rank is only a courtesy. Please go on.’
‘Well, Evadne certainly – she certainly “caught” Raymond Gentry. I mean, I know one should never speak ill of the dead – indeed, a man of my vocation shouldn’t speak ill even of the living – but I am only human, after all, I don’t pretend to be saintlier than any of my flock, and I cannot deny I took an instant dislike to that young man. There, I’ve said it!’
‘An instant dislike, eh? Mostly, I suppose, for the same reasons as Miss Mount?’
‘Absolutely. So sad, too. Our little gathering was just getting going when he turned up with Selina. Then the atmosphere became quite inspissated.’
Trubshawe blinked.
‘Did it now? Can you give me a “for instance”?’
‘I can give you many “for instances”. Right from the start Gentry insisted on letting us know that he was among us only because poor, benighted Selina wanted him to meet her people.
‘Now, no one could be fonder than I am of Selina ffolkes, but she has, I fear – and I’ve had occasion to say so to her face, so I’m not telling tales out of school – she has never been too fastidious in her choice of male companions.’
Then, realising that Don was glaring at him, he added a hurriedly improvised postscript:
‘Er … that’s to say, not until now.’
Mopping his brow with a handkerchief which had been discreetly handed to him by his ever-watchful wife, he sought to get back on track.
‘Gentry simply couldn’t resist driving home to us how much more amusing – no, no, no, not amusing, penetrating – that was the word – Evadne hit it on the nose, he used that word “penetrating” so often it, well, it penetrated right into my brain, giving me quite a migraine, something I –’
‘Vicar,’ said Trubshawe, ‘if you would …’
‘What?’
‘… stick to the point?’
‘Well, I’m sorry, Inspector,’ said the Vicar querulously, ‘but, as you’ll see, this is the point. If his prattle hadn’t given me one of my splitting headaches, along the whole right side of my face, I might have been able to adopt a more benevolent, more truly Christian, attitude towards him. I might have tried harder to feign interest in his addle-pated talk about the “crowd” he moved in, all those vegetarians, Egyptologists, fakirs, Cubists, Russian dancers, Christian Scientists, amateur photographers, Theosophists and goodness knows what else! Now there’s a “for instance” for you.’
‘What is?’
‘Theosophists. Evie omitted to mention how much Gentry went on about conducting séances at the Planchette, making contact with Those Who Have Passed Over, you know, all that silly spiritualistic hanky-panky. In his foetid little mind he realised that, as an Anglican clergyman, I couldn’t possibly approve of such pagan foofaraw, so he taunted me and taunted me and I could see him, with a sly, lethal glint in his eye, simply waiting for me to rise to the bait.’
‘And did you?’
‘Inspector, I must tell you that even in this agreeable little backwater of ours I’ve been buttonholed by potty-mouthed disbelievers before, and I find that the only way to handle them is to refuse to descend to their level. So I said to him, “I know what you’re up to, young man. I can put two and two together.”’
‘What was his answer to that?’
‘Oh, he was awfully clever – as usual. “Yes,” he said, in that nasal whinny of his which drove us all to distraction, “you can put two and two together – and come up with something too, too ridiculous!”’