"Well, she turned him down first, you know," Dinah pointed out.
"So she did," agreed Harding and stood up.
"Inquisition over?" inquired Miss Fawcett.
"The inquisition is over for today," said Harding.
"I see!" said Miss Fawcett sapiently. "Thumbscrews not yet arrived." She rose, and stood facing him. "I wish the murderer hadn't got to be discovered, but I quite see that he must be, and I hope you find him quickly. Because the sort of atmosphere of suspicion and suspense we're living in now is utterly unnerving. Moreover, the sooner we get the house cleared of all these ill-assorted visitors, the better it will be for my sister. By the way, am I under lock and key too, or can I leave the place?"
There was a slight pause. "I've no shadow of right to keep you here, Miss Fawcett," said Harding. "At the same time I wish very much that you would stay."
"Oh, I'm going to! All I meant was, can I go into Ralton to do the shopping, and pay the bills?"
"Of course you can. Go anywhere you like," said Harding.
"Thanks very much. And one other thing, Mr. Harding: if you want anything at any time — to be shown round, or to ask any question — do you think you could send for me, and not my sister? She's dreadfully shattered by all this, and I want to keep her out of it as much as I can."
"I will," promised Harding. "But I shall want both your sister and her stepson to be present tomorrow when the safe is opened. Do you know what train the General's solicitor is coming by?"
"Do you mean to say Geoffrey didn't tell you that" demanded Miss Fawcett "Really, he is the most unreliable ass I know! The solicitor arrives at ten-fifty at Ralton Station. His name is Tremlowe. I'll see Fay and Geoffrey are on the spot when you're ready for them. Do you want to see anyone else now?"
"No, I'm going to relieve you of my presence for today, Miss Fawcett. I shall be back in the morning."
"Au revoir, then," said Dinah, holding out her hand. The Sergeant, a forgotten spectator, watched the handshake with dawning suspicion. Inspector Harding closed the door behind Miss Fawcett, and stood for an instant, a little smile lurking at the back of his eyes. The Sergeant, his suspicion growing, said with some severity "A very pleasant-spoken lady, sir. Very helpful."
Harding looked up quickly, and a tinge of colour stole into his face. "I thought she might be," he said, walking back to the table and collecting his papers into a bundle.
"Yes, sir," said the Sergeant. "What I should call a nice looking young lady too."
"Quite," said Inspector Harding casually.
Chapter Thirteen
Inspector Harding, driving his car back to Ralton, was rather silent, and frowned at the road ahead of him. The Sergeant ventured presently to ask him what he meant to do next. "Will you be wanting me, sir?"
"No, I don't think so, Sergeant. I want to tabulate all these statements, and think the thing out a bit. And I want also to see Mrs. Chudleigh. But you needn't come with me there if you'll explain just where the Vicarage is."
"You want to see Mrs. Chudleigh, sir?"
"Of course I want to see her. Where does she live?"
"At Lyndhurst," replied the Sergeant. A slow grin spread over his solemn countenance. "I'm bound to say, sir, I hadn't thought of her, but I wouldn't put it above her and no more would most of them who knows her. She's a tartar, that's what she is."
"What I want to see Mrs. Chudleigh about," explained Harding patiently, "is to find out from her whether she heard or saw anyone in the study yesterday when she passed that side window."
"Yes, sir. It was only my little joke," said the Sergeant, abashed.
When Harding arrived at the Crown, having dropped the Sergeant at the police station, it was close on seven o'clock. He went straight into the dining-room, and had dinner. With the exception of one old gentleman seated at the far end of the room, he was the only diner at that early hour, and was able in the vault-like silence to study his notes while he ate. The knowledge of his identity had reached every one in the hotel by this time, in that mysterious manner peculiar to small country towns, and the waiter hovered about him with respectful assiduity while various other members of the staff, including two awe-struck chambermaids, peeped at him through the service-door. As he remained quite unconscious of the interest he was creating, this did not discompose him in the least. He continued to study his notes, and ordered black coffee, and an old brandy. Shortly after this the Chief Constable looked into the dining-room, and seeing Harding, came over, and sat down at his table. This was very thrilling, and the chef, who had till then taken very little interest in the Inspector, was moved to peep into the dining-room also.
Major Grierson, who was wearing evening-dress under a light overcoat, explained that he was on his way to a dinner-party in the immediate vicinity, and had just dropped in to have a word with Harding.
"Delighted, sir," said Harding, and beckoned to the waiter, who came up with great alacrity.
The conversation between the detective from London and the Chief Constable was, however, somewhat disappointing.
"What will you have, sir? Martini? Sherry?"
"Thank you, thank you, I think a sherry — a dry sherry. Dear me, Harding, how it — er — takes one back! Fancy running across you again like this! Most er — rxtraordinary!"
When the waiter returned with a glass of sherry for the Chief Constable the conversation was still more dispiriting. All he had to report to the chambermaids, the house porter, and the chef, was that the detective and the Major seemed to know one another very well, and were swopping yarns about the war.
But when he was out of earshot the conversation took a swift turn. The Chief Constable, having enjoyed a reminiscent chuckle over what had happened in a certain billet behind the lines, stopped laughing, and said in a low voice: "Well, well, you must — er — come and dine with me, Harding. But about this business: you've been up to the Grange?"
"Yes, I've been there, but I haven't reached any conclusions yet," said Harding.
"Naturally not. Quite. I didn't expect it, my dear fellow. You consider it — er — a difficult case?"
"I do indeed, sir. There are too many people mixed up in it."
"My view — er—exactly! You haven't — er — discussed it yet with the Superintendent?"
"Not yet, but I will tomorrow morning," promised Harding.
"Yes, yes, I was sure I could — er — rely on you," said the Major, swallowing the last of his sherry. "Must try not to tread on — er — corns!" With which he took his leave, and bustled out to join his wife in the car outside.
Inspector Harding drove up to Lyndhurst Vicarage at half past eight, and sent in his card. The parlour-maid, reading it, stepped back from him as from a coiled cobra and, leaving him standing in the hall, disappeared into a room at the back of the house. She came back in a few minutes, and intimated that he was to step this way, if you please.
He passed unannounced into the room she had come from, and found himself in a fair-sized apartment crowded with china cabinets, incidental chairs, smell tables, knick-knacks, and hassocks. The walls were papered in a design of white and silver stripes, and hung with a heterogeneous collection of paintings, photographs, and Crown-Derby plates. A tapestry fire-screen was set before the empty grate, and the long windows were obscured by very stiffly starched white muslin curtains, and flanked on either side by faded blue brocade ones, looped back with thick silken cords. The room was lit by a central light in an alabaster bowl, and had beside, a standard lamp with a pink silk shade behind the sofa.
Mrs. Chudleigh, in a nondescript garment known to her as 'semi-evening dress', was seated bolt upright on the sofa with her work-basket beside her, and a piece of embroidery in her hand. The Vicar, as Harding entered the room, got up from a deep arm-chair on the oppossite of the fireplace. He held Harding's card between his fingers, and said in a vague way: 'Er — good evening, Inspector. Pray come in. You find us all unprepared for visitors, I fear." With a slight gesture and an apologetic smile he indicated his carpet slippers, and his wife's needlework.