‘Hear hear!’ cried the Colonel.
‘Good for you, Vicar,’ the Chief-Inspector nodded in agreement. ‘And thank you for being so co-operative. Now let me put one last question to you and then you’re free.’
‘Please.’
‘Did you leave your bedroom at all during the night?’
‘Yes, I did,’ was the surprising answer. ‘Several times, in fact.’
‘Several times!? Why?’
The Vicar threw back his head and laughed – he actually laughed aloud.
‘Well,’ said Trubshawe, ‘I may be getting dim, but I fail to understand what’s suddenly so funny.’
‘Oh, Inspector, now that I’ve crashed through the barrier of embarrassment, I’m willing – as only half-an-hour ago it would have been unthinkable for me – I’m willing to give you a brutally straight answer to that question. If I left my bedroom several times during the night, it was because I had to reply to several Calls of Nature. When you reach my age, Nature can become quite … quite pressing. Especially after the sort of blowout we had at dinner.’
‘I see. And roughly when, may I ask, was the last time?’
‘Actually, I can answer that one not roughly but precisely. Nature, at least in my current experience, tends to be a creature of routine. It was five-thirty.’
‘And did you see anything suspicious? Or even just untoward?’
‘No, nothing at all. I woke up, got up – yet again – trotted along the corridor and …’
Whereupon, abruptly falling silent, he started to frown in an effort of remembrance.
‘So you did see something?’
‘N-o-o-o,’ murmured the Vicar when he answered at last. ‘No, I didn’t see anything.’
‘But you stopped as though –’
‘It wasn’t what I saw, it was what I heard. How very odd. With everything that’s happened since, it completely slipped my mind.’
‘What did you hear?’
‘As I was returning from – from my last Call of Nature, I heard voices raised in anger, an argument, a real argy-bargy, between a man and a woman, quite a violent one too. I couldn’t distinguish what was being said, all of it taking place behind closed doors, you understand, but it certainly sounded as though it must have been alarmingly loud inside the room itself.’
‘Inside which room?’ asked Trubshawe.
‘Oh, as to that,’ replied the Vicar, ‘there can be no doubt at all. It came from the attic. Yes, it most definitely came from the attic.’
Chapter Six
‘An argument inside the attic at five-thirty in the morning, eh?’ grunted the Chief-Inspector. ‘Between a man and a woman? The plot thickens …’ he added satirically.
Tugging at one of his moustache’s nicotine-stained fringes, he then asked the Vicar:
‘You didn’t recognise either voice, I suppose?’
‘I’m afraid not. I say again, Mr Trubshawe, I didn’t actually hear the argument itself – who was arguing and what it was about. I heard only that there was an argument.’
‘And naturally you didn’t get any sense of how old they were?’
‘How old who were?’
‘The man and woman you heard arguing?’
‘No, no, no. I was half-asleep, you know, which is why I’ve only just remembered that I heard it at all.’
‘I see. Well, thanks for that, Vicar,’ said the policeman. ‘You’ve been extremely helpful.’
He turned his attention to the five women present.
‘Now, ladies,’ he said, ‘you’ve just heard what the Vicar has had to say. So may I enquire if any of you went to the attic, for whatever reason, you understand – for, even though it’s highly improbable, it’s nevertheless not impossible that the argument overheard by the Vicar and the subsequent murder of Gentry are unconnected. I repeat, did any of you, for whatever reason, go up into the attic at approximately five-thirty this morning?’
It was, unexpectedly, the Vicar himself who answered first.
‘Not,’ he said without any too apparent asperity in his voice, ‘that my word, my word of honour, is likely to carry as much weight with you as it might previously have done, Inspector, given what I’ve just confessed to, but I would like to vouch for Mrs Wattis. She was sound asleep when I crawled out of bed at five-thirty and she was sound asleep when I climbed back into it no more than seven or eight minutes later. You may believe me or not as you will.’
‘My dear Vicar,’ Trubshawe diplomatically replied, ‘I’m not here either to believe or disbelieve you. You or anybody else, for that matter. I’m here to listen to what you all have to tell me in the hope of uncovering some clue as to how and why and by whom the crime was committed. As I’ve already had cause to remind you, I did not volunteer to come to ffolkes Manor.’
‘Please be patient with us, Trubshawe,’ said the Colonel. ‘We’re all of us still on edge. Evadne may find it hard to conceal her glee at being directly implicated in the kind of whodunit she’s only ever lived by proxy – don’t deny it, Evie dear, it’s written all over your face – but I can assure you that, for the rest of us, knowing we’re suspects in a real-life murder mystery is no laughing matter.
‘As for vouching for our better halves, as Clem has just done, well, I fear I for one cannot oblige. As per usual, I was snoring my head off at five-thirty and Mary could have danced the hoochie-koochie in front of the wardrobe mirror for all I’d have been aware of it.
‘She and I, though, have been man and wife for nigh on twenty-six years, twenty-six cloudless years, and it’s on that evidence that I’m prepared to vouch for her. It probably won’t be enough for a police officer like you, but it’s more than enough for me.’
He laid his hand on his wife’s shoulder and let her clasp it in her own.
An unmoved Trubshawe, meanwhile, addressed the Doctor.
‘Rolfe? Sound asleep at five-thirty, I suppose?’
‘Afraid so. Both of us – I mean, both Madge and I – we tend to sleep through the night. It’s just one of those quirky habits we’ve fallen into. Pity, really. If I’d known what was about to happen, I’d have struggled to stay awake. But, there you are, no one gave us any advance warning.’
‘If you don’t mind, Doctor,’ said the Chief-Inspector with a sigh, ‘we can all live without the heavy sarcasm. These questions have to be asked. Miss Mount, you will vouch for yourself, I suppose?’
‘If you mean by that, was I in bed, was I in bed by myself, and was I sound asleep at five-thirty in the morning, the answer is yes on all counts.’
The Chief-Inspector sighed again.
‘And you, Miss Rutherford?’
‘Me? I’ve never even heard of five-thirty in the morning!’
‘H’m,’ said Trubshawe, ‘that leaves just Miss Selina. Naturally, I’ll wait till she’s sufficiently recovered before putting any questions to her. And please don’t look so anxious, Mrs ffolkes, I’ll be diplomacy itself. I know how to handle these tricky situations. Heaven knows I’ve had enough practice.’
With an unwavering gaze, he looked at each of the occupants of the drawing-room in turn until, slowly doubling back, his eyes settled at last on Cora Rutherford.
‘Perhaps, Miss Rutherford,’ he said, ‘you wouldn’t mind going next?’
‘Delighted,’ said the actress.
Now, it should be said that, whether she really was the coyly generic age she claimed for herself – ‘Not quite the Bright Young Thing I used to be, darling!’ – Cora Rutherford was by no stretch of the imagination a leathery old filly. She still had a trim figure, possibly too trim to have survived the years more or less intact without artificial enhancement, and though it wasn’t easy to tell beneath the waxy make-up which fossilised her face in a permanent moue of pinched hoity-toitiness, that face did seem to be genuinely unwrinkled.