Fane eyed him indulgently.
“I made a point about the instantaneous nature of the wound. I have never known a corpse to be able to get up and hide a weapon after a successful suicide bid. The man is sprawled in there dead, with a nasty mortal wound that was pretty instantaneous in causing death… and no sign of any weapon. Curious, isn’t it?”
Evans stared at him in disbelief.
“That’s ridiculous…” There was no conviction in his voice. “You can’t be serious? The weapon must be hidden behind the door or somewhere.”
Fane did not bother to reply.
“But,” Evans plunged on desperately, knowing that Fane had articulated the very thing that had been worrying him; the missing weapon. “Are you saying that Gray was killed and then placed in the toilet?”
Fane shook his head firmly.
“More complicated than that, I’m afraid. Judging from the blood splayed out from the wound, staining the walls of the cubicle, he was already in the toilet when he was killed and with the door locked from the inside, according to your chief steward there.”
Jeff Ryder stirred uncomfortably.
“The door was locked from the inside,” he confirmed, defensively.
“Then how…?” began Evans.
“That is something we must figure out. Captain, I have no wish to usurp any authority but, if I might make a suggestion…?”
Evans did not answer. He was still contemplating the impossibility of what Fane had suggested.
“Captain…?”
“Yes? Sorry, what did you say?”
“If I might make a suggestion? While Hector does a preliminary examination to see if we can discover the cause of death, will you allow me to question Gray’s colleague and then we might discover the why as well as the how?”
Evans lips compressed thoughtfully.
“I don’t feel that I have the authority. I’ll have to speak to the chairman of the company.”
“As soon as possible, captain. We’ll wait here,” Fane replied calmly. “While we are waiting, Doctor Ross and I will get the body out of the toilet.”
Hardly any time passed before Moss Evans returned. By then Ross and Fane had been able to remove the body of Kinloch Gray from the toilet and lay it in the area between the bulkhead and front row of the premier class seats. Evans cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Doctor Fane. My chairman has given you full permission to act as you see fit in this matter… until the aircraft lands, that is. Then, of course, you must hand over matters to the local police authority.” He shrugged and added, as if some explanation were necessary: “It seems that my chairman has heard of your reputation as a… a criminologist? He is happy to leave the matter in the hands of Doctor Ross and yourself.”
Fane inclined his head gravely.
“Will you be diverting the aircraft?” he asked.
“My chairman has ordered us to continue to our point of destination, doctor. As the man is dead, it is pointless to divert in search of any medical assistance.”
“Good. Then we have over three hours to sort this out. Can your steward provide me with a corner where I can speak with Gray’s colleague? She tells me that he is his personal secretary. I want a word without causing alarm to other passengers?”
“See to it, Jeff,” Captain Evans ordered the chief steward. He glanced at Fane. “Don’t they say that murder is usually committed by someone known to the victim? Doesn’t that make this secretary the prime suspect? Or will every passenger have to be checked out to see if they have some connection with Gray?”
Fane smiled broadly.
“I often find that you cannot make general rules in these matters.”
Evans shrugged.
“If it helps, I could put out an address asking all passengers to return to their seats and put on their seat belts. I could say that we are expecting turbulence. It would save any curious souls from trying to enter this area.”
“That would be most helpful, captain,” Hector Ross assured him, looking up from his position by the corpse.
Evans hesitated a moment more.
“I am going back to the flight deck. Keep me informed of any developments.”
Within a few minutes of Evans leaving, there came the sound of raised voices. Fane looked up to see the stewardess, Sally Beech, trying her best to prevent a young man from moving forward towards them. The young man was very determined.
“I tell you that I work for him.” His voice was raised in protest. “I have a right to be here.”
“You are in tourist class sir. You have no right to be here in premier class.”
“If something has happened to Mister Gray then I demand…”
Fane moved quickly forward. The young man was tall, well-spoken, and, Fane observed, his handsome looks were aided by a tan which came from a lamp rather than the sun. He was immaculately dressed. He sported a gold signet ring on his slim tapering fingers. Fane had a habit of noticing hands. He felt much could be told about a person from their hands and how they kept their fingernails. This young man obviously paid a great deal of attention to maintaining well manicured nails.
“Is this Mister Gray’s secretary?” he asked Sally.
The stewardess shook her head.
“No, doctor. This is a passenger from tourist class. He claims to have worked for Mister Gray.”
“And your name is?” queried Fane swiftly, his sharp eyes on the young man’s handsome features.
“Oscar Elgee. I was Mister Gray’s manservant.” The young man spoke with a modulated voice that clearly betrayed his public school background. “Check with Frank Tilley, in premier class. He is Mister Gray’s personal secretary. He will tell you who I am.”
Fane smiled encouragingly at Sally Beech.
“Would you do that for me, Miss Beech, and also tell Mister Tilley that I would like to see him here when convenient?” When she hurried away, Fane turned back to the new arrival. “Now, Mister Elgee, how did you hear that there had been an… an accident?”
“I heard one of the stewardesses mentioning it to another back in the tourist class,” Elgee said. “If Mister Gray has been hurt…”
“Mister Gray is dead.”
Oscar Elgee stared at him for a moment.
“A heart attack?”
“Not exactly. Since you are here, you might formally identify your late employer. We need an identification for Doctor Ross’s record.”
He stood aside and allowed the young man to move forward to where the body had been laid out ready for Ross’s examination. Ross moved to allow the young man to examine the face. Elgee halted over the body and gazed down for a moment.
“Terra es, terram ibis,” he muttered. Then his face broke in anguish. “How could this have happened? Why is there blood on his face? What sort of accident happened here?”
“That’s exactly what we are attempting to find out,” Ross told him. “I take it that you formally identify this man as Henry Kinloch Gray?”
The young man nodded briefly, turning away. Fane halted him beyond the curtained area.
“How long did you work for him, Mister Elgee?”
“Two years.”
“What exactly was your job with him?”
“I was his manservant. Everything. Chauffeur, butler, cook, valet, handyman. His factotum.”
“And he took you on his trips abroad?”
“Of course.”
“But I see he was a stickler for the social order, eh?” smiled Fane.
The young man flushed.
“I don’t understand.”
“You are travelling tourist class.”
“It would not be seemly for a manservant to travel first class.”
“Quite so. Yet, judging from your reactions to his death, you felt a deep attachment to your employer?”