"You are wandering from the point, Mr. Billington-Smith."
"Oh, I don't know that I meant anything in particular!" said Geoffrey irritably. "She said she wasn't going to marry me, and that opened my eyes, and I can assure you nothing would induce me to marry her now, however much she may think I'm going to."
"Does she think you are going to?"
"God knows what she thinks. She's one of those, beautiful, utterly soulless fiends. I was blinded by her."
"Why has she changed her mind?" asked Harding.
"Because all she cares for is money. Money! Now Father's dead she thinks I shall be frightfully wealthy though he may have left all his money to Francis for all I know. It wouldn't surprise me in the least; it's just the sort of thing he would do."
"Did Miss de Silva, then, break the engagement for pecuniary reasons?"
"Yes," Geoffrey admitted reluctantly.
Harding put down his pencil. "I see. Now, I am not going to ask you whether your father disliked the engagement, because I know that he did. Also -"
"You seem to know the hell of a lot," muttered Geoffrey.
"I'm glad you are beginning to realise that," replied Harding calmly. "It is no use trying to put me off with these half-truths and evasions, you see. You are only giving me an impression I am perfectly sure you don't want me to have. On Monday morning you had a interview with your father, who was very angry with you. That is so, isn't it?"
"Yes," Geoffrey answered, somewhat subdued. "At least, he was angry about Lola."
"What was the result of that interview, Mr. Billington-Smith?"
"Well, we had a bit of a row — more than that, really , because he was absolutely livid with rage — and in the end he said I could get to hell out of his sight, and he going to cut off my allowance, and he never wanted to set eyes on me again. Not that that was likely to worry me , any of it, because as I said, we didn't hit it off, and as for starving in a ditch, which was the way he put it, money simply means nothing to me, and in any case I can support myself with my pen. I can tell you, it was a very jolly interview."
"It seems to have been," agreed Harding. "When it was over, what did you do?"
"Naturally I went up to tell Lola what had happened. It simply didn't occur to me that it would make any difference as far as she was concerned. Of course, being practically disowned was a bit of a bore, but I really wasn't worrying much then."
"You say you went up — I take it Miss de Silva had breakfasted in her room?"
"Oh yes, she never gets up before eleven. In fact she wouldn't let me see her till then, and I had to kick my heels on the landing for ages. And when she did let me into her room, and I told her — well, it was an absolute knock-out. I thought she was joking at first, when she said she wouldn't marry me if I hadn't got a lot of money. Then I saw she wasn't, and I suppose I had a sort of utter revulsion of feeling, because all I could think of was to get out of the house, and away from Lola. I felt I should be sick if I stayed another moment. So that's exactly what I did do."
"What?" said Harding.
"Got out of the house," Geoffrey said impatiently.
"Have you any idea what the time was when you left the house?"
"No, of course I haven't," replied Geoffrey. "When a man's stood up to a blow like that, had his faith in women completely destroyed — well, what I mean is, you don't suppose I stopped to look at the time, do you? All I know, is it was some while after eleven, and before Father came in."
"And when you left the house, Mr. Billington-Smith where did you go?"
"Oh, I don't know! Miles away. I simply walked and walked."
"I quite appreciate the fact that you were extremely upset," said Harding, "but surely you must have some idea of where you went?"
"Yes, well, I went through the woods first, and over to Longshaw Hill, and I suppose I sort of circled round it more or less by instinct, because I found myself on old Carnaby's land — he owns the place on the main road, between us and the village — and I came home by way of the footpath through his park. As a matter of fact, I didnt come out on the main road at all, because you can get from Moorsale Park on to our land without touching the road. There's just a farm-track you have to cross, and then you come to the spinney at the bottom of the garden. That's how I came."
"I see. Did you meet anyone while you were out?"
"To meet anyone was the last thing I wanted!" said Geoffrey bitterly.
"Try to remember, Mr. Billington-Smith. I don't know this countryside, but you have described what sounds to me a very lonely walk."
"Of course it was! I didn't want to run into people. I wanted to be alone!"
"Are you well known here?" Harding asked. "If someone did happen to see you during the course of your walk, would they be likely to recognise you?"
"I don't know. I dare say. It depends." Geoffrey looked defiantly across the table. "I see what you're driving at, but if you think —"
"I am not driving at anything," Harding said gravely, "But I want you, in your own interests, to try and remember whether you did not meet someone."
"I tell you I don't know! My mind was in an absolute turmoil. I'm pretty sure I didn't actually meet anyone, hut how on earth can I know whether anybody saw me or not?"
"Very well, Mr. Billington-Smith," Harding answered. "That is all I want to ask you at present. Will you ask Mr. Halliday to come here, please?"
Geoffrey got up jerkily. "Look here, Inspector!" he burst out. "This is all jolly fine, but if you've marked me down as a suspect simply because I can't bring a lot of witnesses forward to prove I'm speaking the truth — well, I call it a bit thick! There are heaps of people with just as much reason for wanting to kill Father as I had — and if you want to know there's one person in particular with a damned sight more reason — and to single me out —'
Harding glanced up from his notebook. "Mr. Billington-Smith: really, this is not leading us anywhere. Will you send Mr. Halliday in to me, please?"
Geoffrey hesitated, and then flung round on his heel and strode to the door. As he opened it Harding spoke again. "Oh, just one moment! Did the Chief Constable warn you that it would be necessary for the safe in your father's study to be opened in my presence?"
"Yes, he did, and Father's lawyer is coming down tomorrow," snapped Geoffrey, and walked out, banging the door behind him.
Inspector Harding gazed meditatively after him. He said, without turning his head: "You looked at me once I think, Sergeant. What was it?"
"Well, sir, I couldn't help thinking that for Mr. Billington-Smith to say the General was a joke to him was a very different tale from any I ever heard. It didn't seem to me that you could very well rely on anything he said. What I should call a mighty bad witness, sir."
"Atrocious," said Harding.
The Sergeant coughed behind his hand. "Begging your pardon, sir, I thought you was a bit high-handed with him — if I might pass the remark. If he had happened to object to the question he took exception to I couldn't help wondering where we'd have been then."
"We should have apologised gracefully, Sergeant. But if I hadn't bullied him a little I should have got nothing out of him at all. A tiresome young gentleman."
"Yes, sir. And it's a weak story he told you."
"A very weak story," said Harding.
"He's what you might call hasty-tempered too," pondered the Sergeant. "Very excitable, he seemed."
"Excitable, and badly frightened," said Harding, and turned his head as the door opened to admit Basil Halliday.
Chapter Eleven
Halliday walked forward, glancing from Harding to the Sergeant, and back again. "Good afternoon," he said. "You want to ask me some questions, I think."
"Yes," Harding answered. "Sit down, will you, Mr. Halliday? You and your wife are guests in the house, I believe?"