The stenographer whisked the sheets of paper out of her typewriter and Jackson signed his name to both copies.
Sands went over to Sergeant Bannister, who was standing disconsolately looking at the ceiling.
“Think you can take some statements by yourself now?”
Bannister blushed with pleasure. “Oh yes, sir! Very kind of you, sir.”
“All right. Get to work in the sitting room down the hall. As each one is finished bring it to me and I’ll look it over. You may go.”
“You might have told me,” the stenographer said acidly, “before I set up housekeeping in here.”
She snapped the lid on her typewriter and went out. Jackson and Bannister followed.
The inspector’s eyes rested on Prye. “Well?”
“Well,” Prye echoed, “I guess I’ll have to believe him. He filled the pitcher, Duncan drank some of it when he awoke, and somebody poisoned the rest. The whole setups rather odd — Duncan lying in bed feigning sleep while somebody drops poison into his water.”
“Miss Shane seems quite positive that Duncan wrote the letter you received at the church. If he did, one can assume that it was he who poisoned the water too, perhaps intending to drink it himself to stop the wedding. Then when he saw Jane drinking it he decided that her collapse would do just as well as his own and let her drink it.”
“Very Duncanesque, yes,” Prye said.
“Still, it’s not as likely as the Mrs. Revel theory, is it? I would like to talk to that young woman. See if she’s up, will you?”
Prye found Dinah in the dining room. She was wearing tailored green silk pajamas with a matching coat. She had a cup of black coffee in front of her. Across the table Aspasia was chewing with ladylike precision on a piece of toast.
The two ladies were ignoring each other.
Prye said, “Good morning,” and gave Dinah the inspector’s message. She got up, nodded coolly at Aspasia, and walked to the door. In the hall she put her hand on Prye’s arm and told him to wait.
Prye stopped.
“What’s he like?” Dinah asked. “Barking or biting?”
“Neither. He’s nice. Hard to fool, I should say.”
Dinah gave a short, bitter laugh. “There isn’t a father’s son of you that’s hard to fool.”
“Well, don’t be too clever. Your position isn’t too good.”
“Why mine?” She paused, her eyes suddenly hard. “Oh, I get it. The hepatica’s jaw dropped and something fell out of it?”
“More or less. Jane told the truth.”
Dinah smiled thinly. “You dear little male children. To you anything that comes out of a rosebud mouth is pure gospel. Well, my mouth is no rosebud but I’ll do the best I can.”
She walked away with a casual wave of her hand. At the library door she turned around and grinned.
“Better stay out, Paul. I haven’t told the honest-to-God somber truth for years and I might be embarrassed in front of a witness.”
“I wouldn’t want to embarrass you,” Prye said virtuously. “I’ll wait in the hall.”
Dinah raised a thin eyebrow. “There are chairs in the drawing room and not in the hall. Besides, I won’t be talking very loudly.”
She opened the library door, walked in, and closed the door firmly behind her. Prye heard her cheerful, “Hello, Inspector. Think you can handle me alone or shall we put Dr. Prye out of his agony and let him come in?”
The inspector’s reply was inaudible so Prye walked across the hall into the drawing room.
Dennis Williams was sitting in front of the fireplace with a book in one hand and a drink in the other. He looked up. “What’s the commotion out in the hall?”
“No commotion,” Prye said. “Dinah.”
Dennis grinned. “Same thing. What does the nasty policeman want with Dinah?”
“I don’t know.”
“I wonder,” Dennis said.
“Go ahead and wonder,” Prye said politely.
Dennis yawned and let his book slide to the floor. Prye noticed that it was a copy of Macbeth.
“Chasing rainbows, I see; improving your mind.”
Dennis yawned again. “This is the damnedest wedding I’ve ever been at. Too bad about Jane and Duncan.”
“Especially about Jane,” Prye said.
“Why especially?”
“I don’t know. Probably because there’ll be no one to look after her.”
“Hell,” Dennis said. “She can always get someone to look after her.”
“Someone such as you.”
Dennis sat up straight. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing much,” Prye said. “I merely thought you’d like the job.”
“I’m not anxious to get married.”
“No, I noticed that.”
“Why should I be?”
“This is a hell of a conversation,” Prye said. “Have a cigarette?”
“You started it. I have my own cigarettes.”
“Gold-tipped and monogrammed?”
Dennis scowled. “You’re trying to start trouble, are you?”
“I suppose I am,” Prye said. “It’s my nature. When trouble doesn’t come to me I go to it. Besides, I don’t like the idea of George sending you here to collect from Duncan, using my wedding as a cover up.”
“George who?” Dennis asked.
“George Revel, as in Dinah Revel.”
“George didn’t send me here. Don’t be absurd. He doesn’t even know I’m here and he’ll raise hell when he finds out. He’s still crazy about Dinah.”
“I think Revel sent you here,” Prye said.
“What you think is my idea of something not to get excited about,” Dennis said. “As long as you don’t think out loud in front of the wrong people.”
“The wrong people as typified by Inspector Sands have already thought. The verdict: Revel sent you here to collect from Duncan. Same as mine, see?”
“I see.” Dennis said carefully. “I am elected number-one goat because you’re going to be related to the rest of the household.”
Prye got up and walked over to the fireplace.
“Look, Williams. Sands has found a letter from Duncan to George Revel which makes it rather clear that Revel was sending an agent to this house to collect something from Duncan and that Duncan himself was not satisfied with the agent. You work for Revel and you are here in the house and I can easily imagine Duncan not being satisfied with you.”
“Can you?” Dennis said. “Tsk.”
“Because you were making passes at his sister.”
“She liked them.”
“I bet all the girls do,” Prye said, “but I wouldn’t call that important. The important thing is, did you collect from Duncan?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t know he had anything to collect,” Dennis said coolly. “I came here for the wedding. I even bought you a silver sandwich tray for which you haven’t thanked me, incidentally. Also incidentally, I hope you choke on every sandwich you eat off it. I am, in brief, a simple, guileless wedding guest with no ulterior motive up my sleeve and a burning desire to get my twenty bucks back on that sandwich tray.”
“I never use them anyway,” Prye said. “But thanks. I’ll do as much for you some day when you decide on the woman. How much do you know about George Revel’s business?”
“Practically nothing,” Dennis admitted cheerfully. “The business angle is for George. My forte is the drawing room. I sit around making myself pleasant, even as I am doing now, without thought of reward. I’m a kind of contact man. I lead the horses to water and George makes them drink. I get a commission on all water drunk.”