"I'll be as considerate as I can," Harding promised.
"Thank you," she said, and went out.
When she had gone there was a moment's silence . Harding came back to the table, frowning slightly. The Sergeant scratched his cheek, and presently said: "I never heard anyone say anything against her ladyship, sir. Very well spoken of, she is, and always has been. At the same time, I wouldn't say that the General didn't try her pretty far, because by all one hears that wouldn't be the truth. Very far he tried her."
"You know her better than I do, Sergeant."
"Well, sir, that's a fact, and if you was to ask me, I should say her ladyship wouldn't hurt a flea."
"At the same time," Harding said, "she is in an extremely overwrought condition. If half of what the servants deposed in the statements the Superintendent look is true it wouldn't be very difficult to believe that she was goaded to the pitch of murder."
The Sergeant thought it over. "To my mind, sir, it wasn't her. More likely to be that foreign hussy, or this Mr. Halliday."
At this moment the door opened to admit Geoffrey, who came in with an air of nonchalance only too palpably assumed, and broke straightway into speech. "Oh, I understand you want to see me! The trouble is I can't really be of much use to you, Inspector — I say, I absolutely can't go on calling you Inspector, Mr. Harding. It sounds so utterly wrong — I mean -" He glanced towards the Sergeant, and ended lamely: "Oh well, you know!"
"I think, if you don't mind, we'll stick to Inspector, Mr. Billington-Smith," said Harding unresponsively. "Will you sit down, please?"
"Oh, just as you like!" Geoffrey said, a trifle sulkily. He cast himself into the chair, and began to play with his tie again. "I'm quite ready to answer anything I can — er — Inspector. I expect you've seen my original statement, haven't you?"
"I have it here," replied Harding. "There are one or two things in it that I want you to explain."
"Well, I've nothing to add to it, really, but I'll explain anything you like," said Geoffrey handsomely. "Only, as a matter of fact, I don't see myself what more you could possibly want to know. I mean, considering I wasn't here when my father was killed -"
"Will you tell me, Mr. Billington-Smith, what sort of terms you were on with your father?" said Harding. interrupting this speech without ceremony.
"Look here, what on earth has that got to do with it," expostulated Geoffrey. "I keep on telling you I wasn't here when Father was murdered!"
A certain sternness made Harding's voice less pleasant all at once. "Mr. Billington-Smith, my time is limited. Will you have the goodness to answer the question?"
Geoffrey swallowed. "All right, but I still don't -" He saw the Inspector's face harden, and broke off. "Well, l suppose we didn't hit it off frightfully well. My father was absolutely hide-bound, you know. One just had to make allowances for him."
"When you say that you didn't hit it off, do you mean that you quarrelled?"
"Oh no, we didn't exactly quarrel. My father used to rave a bit at me, but I didn't quarrel with him, because as it happens I'm not the quarrelsome sort, and besides. it wasn't worth while."
"Why did your father rave at you?"
"Good God, I don't know! It was just his way. Well, as a matter of fact, he wanted me to go to Sandhurst, only I wasn't strong enough — not that I would have if I had been, because I should have loathed the Army — and he was frightfully fed-up when I took to writing. Of course. as far as he was concerned, there simply wasn't any other profession but the Army. I've had Army drummed into my ears till I'm sick to death of the sound of it. I've got a cousin who's a cavalryman — well, he was here this weekend, he left soon after breakfast yesterday morning — and all I can say is if he's a fair specimen I'm glad I didn't go to Sandhurst. Only of course, the mere fact of Francis — my cousin — being in the Army was quite enough to make Father think him the devil of a fine fellow. Of course Francis always took jolly good care to keep on the right side of Father. Though as a matter of fact I happen to know that for once in a way he failed to touch Father yesterday. However, that was probably only because father was in such a filthy mood. I've no doubt he'd have stumped up in the end. But because I happened to be a bit delicate, and — well, literary — Father never had the slightest use for me. I may say that the only books he ever read in all his life were Dickens and Scott, so that just shows you the sort of man he was. I mean, he simply knew nothing about art or literature, and he hadn't the slightest sympathy for anyone who was different from himself."
"You must have had a very hard time of it," prompted Harding kindly.
"Well, I did, to be quite honest. Not that it made any odds, really, and I don't want to give you the impression that we were always at loggerheads, because we weren't. Naturally, when I was a kid it was pretty rotten for me, but since I grew up I simply went my way and he went his."
"In fact, there was never much love lost between you?"
"Good lord, no! Father had no time for me at all. Personally, I've always believed it was because of my mother. She ran away with another man when I was a kid — not that I blame her for that, because I'll bet he was a swine to her — but anyway I'm pretty sure that was why he didn't like me."
"Would you describe him as having been "an absolute beast" to you ever since you could remember?"
"Oh, I shouldn't put it as strongly as that!" Geoffrey said. "To me he was more of a joke than anything. though of course he was often frightfully annoying."
At this point the Sergeant's gaze transferred itself to Harding's profile, dwelt there a moment, and fixed itself finally on a blank space on the opposite wall.
"You don't live here, do you, Mr. Billington-Smith:' inquired Harding.
"No, I share a flat with a man I know in town. But that isn't because I don't get on with my father!"
"I wasn't suggesting that," replied Harding equable. "You have recently become engaged to be married, have you not, to a Miss Lola de Silva?"
Geoffrey stirred restlessly. "That's all off now, I can assure you."
Harding looked up from a note he was making. "Indeed? But it was not all off, was it, when you brought Miss de Silva here on Saturday?"
Geoffrey gave a short laugh. "No, it wasn't. But since then — However, that's a subject I prefer not to discuss. "That's a pity," said Harding, "for it is a subject which I'm afraid I must ask you to tell me about. When was this engagement broken off?"
"If you must know, yesterday," said Geoffrey. "Did you break it off, or did Miss de Silva?"
Geoffrey got up quickly. "Look here, I've already said I — I don't want to discuss it! It can't have anything to do with you, and I may as well tell you that I very much object to having my private affairs pried into."
"Sit down, Mr. Billington-Smith," said Harding. Geoffrey hesitated, and obeyed. "There are two ways of giving evidence to the police," continued Harding in his even voice. "One is to answer the questions that are put to you, and the other is to have the truth pumped out of you. I recommend the first of these. You will find it less unpleasant."
Geoffrey looked rather frightened. "I didn't mean — of course, if you assure me it's necessary, that's another matter. Only I don't mind telling you that I've been utterly disillusioned about Lola — Miss de Silva, you know, and I simply don't want to hear her name mentioned again."
"Did she, or did you break off the engagement?" repeated Harding.
Geoffrey ran his hand along the arm of the chair. "Well, it's all rather difficult to explain. In a way, she did."
"What do you mean by "in a way"?"
"Well — I found she was completely mercenary. Of course, I'd been living in a fool's paradise. I see that now.