‘I went in, and I did my round, and I come out, and I didn’t see no one.’
Lamb said sharply, ‘Nothing to add to that?’
‘No.’
Lamb made a sudden movement. He leaned forward and thrust out a hand across the table.
‘Look here, Bush – you were seen. You didn’t see anyone, but two people saw you – a boy and a girl who were under the tree by the Rectory wall. Now what about it? What have you got to say to that?’
All the knuckles of the hand which held the cap showed white as bone. The melancholy face remained calm. Bush said slowly, ‘I don’t know what they saw. I was doing my round.’
‘They saw you come out of the church.’
‘They might have seen me come out of the porch.’
‘They saw you come out of the door, and they saw you lock it after you.’
There was a long pause. Then Bush said, ‘I was doing my round.’
‘And your round takes you into the church?’
‘It might do.’
‘Did it take you into the church on Tuesday night?’
‘I won’t say it didn’t.’
Lamb drew in his hand and sat back.
He said, ‘Look here, Bush, you’d better make a clean breast of it. If you were in the church you knew Mr Harsch was dead getting on for about two and a half hours before you went in it with Miss Meade and found the body. You can see for yourself that gives you something you’ve got to explain. If you’re an innocent man, you’ll be willing to explain it. If you’re not you’ve got a right to hold your tongue, and a right to be told that anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence against you. Now – are you going to talk?’
There was a prolonged pause. When it had lasted for an indefinite time, Bush said in the same tone that he had used throughout.
‘Seems I’d better.’
Lamb nodded.
‘That’s right! Well, you went into the church-’
‘Yes, I went in to do my round. The rector, he’s careless with the windows.’
‘Did you see Mr Harsch’s body?’
‘Yes, I saw it.’
‘Just tell me what you did from the time you went into the church – everything.’
Bush put up his free hand and rubbed his chin.
‘I went in, and when I come round the corner where you can see the organ the curtain was pulled back and Mr Harsch fallen down off the stool.’
‘Were the lights on?’
‘Only the one he had for playing. And the pistol was fallen down beside him. When I saw he was dead, I didn’t know what to do. There wasn’t nothing I could do for him, so I thought what I’d better do for myself. Seemed to me it’d be better if it wasn’t me that found him when I was by myself at that time of night. Seemed to me he was bound to be missed up at the house and someone ’ud come down to look for him – same like Miss Janice did. So I thought that’d be best, and no getting mixed up with the police.’
‘Go on,’ said Lamb. ‘What did you do?’
Bush appeared to consider.
‘I didn’t touch him. I knew that wouldn’t be right – no more than to put away his key.’
There was a sharp exclamation from Lamb. Bush went on.
‘Lying aside of where he’d been sitting on the organ stool.’
‘On the stool?’
‘That’s where he’d put it. He’d let himself in and come along with the key in his hand and put it down on the stool. I’ve seen him do it, and I’d say, “You’ll be losing that key one of these days, Mr Harsch”, and he’d shake his head and say “No”, and slip it back into his waistcoat pocket. So when I saw it lie there, that’s what I done – I picked it up and put it back in his pocket.’
Lamb came in quick and sharp.
‘Then why hadn’t it got your prints on it?’
Bush looked mildly surprised.
‘I took hold of it with my handkerchief.’
Both men stared.
‘What made you do that?’
‘Seemed as if it was the right thing to do.’
‘Why?’ The word came back as sharp as a pistol shot.
Bush put up his hand to his chin again.
‘I’d no call to leave my prints on it.’
‘You thought about that?’
‘It come to me.’ He dropped his hand.
Lamb said, ‘All right, go on. What did you do next?’
‘I put out the light, and I come out and locked the door and off round the church like I said.’
‘What time was it?’
‘Struck ten just as I come to the gate.’
‘Was the church door locked or unlocked when you came to it?’ The Chief Inspector’s eyes were intent and shrewd.
Bush made his undisturbed reply.
‘It was open. Mr Harsch didn’t use to lock it, not once in a blue moon.’
Sergeant Abbott thought, ‘And there goes our case against Madoc!’ He wrote the answer down.
Lamb sat forward in his chair, his jaw hard under heavy muscle and firm flesh.
‘You should have said all this before. Holding your tongue like this, you’ve thrown suspicion on others. When did you see Ezra Pincott last?’
With undiminished calm Bush thought for a moment, and then said, ‘Last night – in the Bull.’
‘Did you leave together?’
‘No.’
‘What time did you leave?’
‘Seven minutes to ten.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I went my round.’
‘Did you go into the church?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sure you didn’t take Ezra in with you?’
For the first time Bush looked disturbed. He said, ‘What would I do that for?’
‘You know he had been boasting that he knew something about Mr Harsch’s death, and that it would put money in his pocket?’
‘Anyone could know that. He was there in the Bull, saying it for all to hear.’
The next question came very sharply.
‘You keep brandy in your house?’
Bush moved his chair. A slight frown creased his forehead.
‘There’s nothing wrong about that. Mrs Bush’s aunt, she takes it for her spasms.’
‘So I’ve been told. Did you give Ezra some of it last night?’
The frown straightened out. The grave lips moved into a smile.
‘Ezra never needed for no one to offer him drink. What makes you think I’d give him my good brandy?’
Lamb brought down his fist on the table.
‘Someone gave him brandy, and someone knocked him out and put him in the water to drown.’
Bush stared.
‘You don’t say!’
‘Yes, I do.’
Bush went on staring. ‘Whatever for?’
Lamb gave him back look for look.
‘To stop him opening his mouth about who killed Mr Harsch.’
Bush dropped his cap on the floor. It seemed as if it just slipped from his hand and fell. He stooped to pick it up.
‘Whoever ’ud do a thing like that?‘ he said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THEY WOULD NEVER forgive me if I did not take a visitor to call,’ said Miss Sophy. ‘I have known them all my life, and Mary Anne is such a sad invalid.’
Miss Silver smiled, and spoke the simple truth.
‘I shall be delighted to call on the Miss Doncasters.’
‘Then I will just finish the letter I was writing to my cousin Sophy Ferrars. It will not take me long, and it will give them time to finish their tea.’
The afternoon was mild and fair. Miss Silver put on her hat, her gloves, and a light summer coat, and strolled in the garden, where the trees made a shady pattern across Miss Sophy’s lawn. It was very agreeable – very agreeable indeed. If her mind had been at rest, she would have been enjoying her visit very much. But her mind was very far from being at rest – oh, very far indeed. She walked up and down upon the grass and considered the unsatisfactory details of the Harsch case.
From nowhere on her left a voice of peculiar shrillness spoke her name. No one who had heard that voice could possibly mistake it. She had made it her business to encounter Cyril Bond that morning. She turned now to see him astride the wall between the Rectory and Meadowcroft, one hand holding an overhanging branch, the other flourishing a stick in a manner which suggested that he regarded it as a spear.