9.0 p.m.: Margery, alarmed by buffoonery of Cleaver, runs away in circle.
9.1 p.m.: Dr Barnes, disturbed by the sounds of his daughter’s flight, crawls out to reconnoitre, and is observed by Margery – ‘great black slug’. Disappears hastily. Margery runs home, and arrives long before her father.
9.2 p.m.: Cleaver Wright, having risen to his feet and strolled a few steps round the Stone, comes upon the headless trunk of Sethleigh. Flight to ‘Queen’s Head’ to establish alibi for himself.
9.3 p.m.: Savile decides had better cover his tracks a bit, now Wright has seen the corpse. Worms way out of woods, leaving skull and billhook hidden, and returns to Cottage on the Hill, which, of course, is empty. Gets ready large knife, sharpens saw, places both in suitcase, together with muslin curtains. Takes carlamp. Hides all these things where can easily get at them later. Sits down and awaits return of Lulu Hirst and Cleaver Wright.
9.5 p.m.: Doctor and Lulu, afraid of discovery as so many people seem to be about in the woods, seek Bossbury road, and separate. Savile probably ill-treats Lulu when she arrives home, and sees that she goes up to bed early to be out of the way.
9.45 p.m.: Return of Wright in bloodstained and exhausted condition from the fight in the ‘Queen’s Head’. Goes up to bed. Coast clear for Savile.
10.30 p.m.: Return of Dr Barnes as though he had really spent the evening at the major’s.
11.30 p.m.: Savile to woods. Finishes dismembering the corpse. Wraps up the pieces and hides them, ready to take into Bossbury next day. Returns to Cottage with head and clothing of the corpse. Boils the first to remove flesh. Washes the tie (?) and shirt which are slightly bloodstained. Adds the grey flannels to his own wardrobe. (Supposition only.) Places trunk drawers, vest, tie, and shirt in laundry-basket. Lulu washes other people’s clothes besides Savile’s and Wright’s, so her suspicions not aroused. Summer weather. Damp things will soon dry.
N.B.: Cannot see how the police will ever get on to Savile. The idiots have arrested the doctor! Poor, foolish, choleric man! I must rescue him, I suppose.
Later: What a comfort! Savile has committed suicide! I can now give him away to the police without a single qualm!
Later: I really must put the wind up James Redsey. Then, if he treats that delicious child with anything but the most exquisite kindness and consideration after they are married, he had better look out for himself!
CHAPTER XXIV
The Murderer
I
‘So it was not Dr Barnes, after all?’ said Aubrey. ‘Fancy his being in the woods all the time, though, that Sunday night!’
‘These woods appear to have a curious attraction for all kinds of Undesirable Persons,’ observed Mrs Bryce Harringay, coming into the room from the hall.
‘Yes, indeed. Hampstead Heath on an August Bank Holiday is not to be compared with the Manor Woods on the night of June 22nd,’ returned Mrs Bradley. ‘By the way, I must apologize for invading your house just now.’
Jim Redsey, without glancing in the direction of his aunt, went out.
‘Not my house,’ replied Aubrey’s mother grandly. ‘My son and I are pensioners on the bounty of my nephew James. Happily, James has seen matters in a Reasonable Light. After a certain amount of discussion, in which, I regret to say, he showed little or no disposition to meet me half-way, I have prevailed upon him to purchase a Controlling Interest in this ranch or whatever it is, and go out there to live. I shall remain in charge here with Aubrey.’
‘But look here, mater, dash it all,’ began her son, with unwonted heat. ‘I mean, it’s a bit thick! He doesn’t want to go out to Mexico now he’s got this house and the money. I mean, you can’t expect it. And there’s Felicity to be considered.’
‘Felicity?’ said Mrs Bryce Harringay blankly. ‘What do you mean – Felicity?’
‘Well, I suppose they’ll marry or something sooner or later. She’s only waiting for old Jim to shout the odds, you know!’
Mrs Bryce Harringay looked pained.
‘I do wish, Aubrey, that you would learn to express yourself in a Reasonable Manner. Are you suggesting that it is James’s intention to propose marriage to this young person?’
Aubrey grinned.
‘Just about,’ he said. ‘When he can get somebody to hold his coat and boots he’s going to make the dive, I understand. Be practically a case of breach of promise if he doesn’t, considering how the poor kid howled when she thought he might be arrested.’
‘You are indelicate, child,’ observed Mrs Bradley. ‘What does she want for a wedding-present?’
II
Jim Redsey returned to the library when his aunt was gone.
‘Savile,’ he said slowly, ‘was a curious kind of devil, but in spite of everything I shouldn’t have thought a murder was much in his line, somehow.’
He glanced at Mrs Bradley, who appeared to have fallen asleep in the large comfortable armchair, and then began to tiptoe out of the room.
‘Stop, James!’ came in deep rich tones from the depths of the chair. ‘You are wearing grey flannel trousers!’
‘Yes,’ agreed Jim, glancing down at them.
‘If I had my way,’ said Mrs Bradley firmly, ‘grey flannel trousers should be taxed, together with dogs, automobiles, wireless receiving-sets, incomes, and the colour curiously termed beige.’
‘Why?’ asked Jim, interested. ‘Certainly bring in a lot of money. Everybody wears grey flannel bags.’
‘Yes, that’s what is so annoying to a mere seeker after truth,’ said Mrs Bradley sorrowfully. ‘You see. I am in a quandary. Either Savile or Wright could have stolen the murdered man’s trousers – and his shirt and vest and drawers too, for that matter! – and either could have worn them!’
‘You mean – yes, I see. Still it doesn’t matter now the poor blighter’s dead, does it? I mean, the police are certain to call it a day, aren’t they?’
‘That, being interpreted, equals – ?’
‘Well, I mean to say, the hunt is over, so to speak. They’ll conclude Savile did the murder, now it is certain that the doctor could not have taken the body to the butcher’s shop on Monday.’
‘I hope so, sincerely, for your sake,’ said Mrs Bradley, getting up from her chair and walking over to an oval mirror. She studied her unpleasing reflection for some seconds long, earnestly and in complete silence.
Jim began to feel the pulse in his right temple hammering uncomfortably. His mouth felt dry and his hands clammy.
‘How do you mean?’ he asked thickly.
‘Well,’ replied Mrs Bradley, turning to face him, ‘although Savile had planned the murder, I suppose it was so little in his line that, truth to tell, he never committed it – a fact which, out of aunt-like affection for yourself, I have endeavoured to relegate to the background during this tiresome business. I have not actually told a verbal lie about it, but still there it is! Savile cut up the body – yes. He stole the murdered man’s clothes – yes. Sometimes he wore them and sometimes, when their wardrobes got somewhat mixed – a frequent occurrence, I fancy, in that curious household! – Cleaver Wright wore them –’
‘But what about Wright’s own trousers you told us about? The ones he knelt on the ground in to look at Sethleigh’s body? The ones that got stained about the knees with blood?’
‘Eye-wash,’ said Mrs Bradley succinctly.
‘How much?’
‘He’s been wearing them on and off ever since, alternately with those belonging to Sethleigh.’