‘And that was all you heard?’

‘Yes, sir. I went along the passage, and when I had finished I went up to my room.’

CHAPTER XXVIII

The door closed upon Marsham. Frank Abbott let a full minute go by. Then rising from his chair, he strolled across and opened it again. The long passage was empty. He returned to the fire, noted that it required attention, and made an expert disposition of two small logs and a large one. When he had finished and was dusting his hands with a beautiful handkerchief in harmony with his tie and socks, he observed in a casual tone,

‘Just as well to be sure that he doesn’t make a habit of leaning against doors.’

Miss Silver looked at him across her pink knitting.

‘You think he heard more than he is willing to admit?’

‘Could be. No one ever tells everything they know-not in a murder case. I learnt that from you when I was in rompers. I thought he was holding something back. Didn’t you?’

‘I do not know. I think he recognized Professor Richardson’s voice a good deal more definitely than he admits.’

‘Oh, yes-quite definitely. Likes the old boy, I wouldn’t wonder. Was not, shall we say, extravagantly attached to the late Whitall. None of the old retainer touch about our Marsham.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘I have yet to encounter a single person who can be said to have entertained the slightest affection for Sir Herbert Whitall.’

Frank’s fair eyebrows rose.

‘What an epitaph! “Here lies the man whom no one liked.” What would you think about adding, “and a good many people hated?” ’

‘I think it may prove to be in accordance with the facts.’

‘Nobody liked him-a good few hated him. That’s the verdict, is it? Into which of those two classes would you put Miss Whitaker?’

‘I would not care to say. There has been some strong feeling. She is undoubtedly suffering severely from shock.’

‘Well, she has been with him ten years. She may have been his mistress. I don’t suppose she murdered him. Newbury looked into her alibi, and it seems all right. She left at half past ten with the Considines, caught the Emsworth bus, and got off at the station at eleven o’clock. The sister is a Mrs. West living at 32 Station Road. She says Miss Whitaker got there just after eleven and went straight to bed-they both did. She said she had had a bad turn, and her little boy hadn’t been well. She rang her sister up because she was going to be alone in the house with him, and she wasn’t any too sure of herself.’

‘She is on the telephone?’

‘Yes, I asked about that. She has a masseuse boarding with her. She has the telephone, and allows Mrs. West to use it.’

‘And where was this masseuse?’

‘Away for the week-end. The story hangs together all right. Miss Whitaker took the ten o’clock bus back in the morning.’

Miss Silver went on knitting. From her expression Frank deduced that she still had something to say. He waited for it, leaning against the mantelshelf, the picture of an idle, elegant young man, fair hair mirror-smooth, beautifully cut dark suit. It was not very long before she coughed and said in a tentative manner,

‘For how long has Mrs. West resided in Emsworth?’

He looked a little surprised. Whatever he was expecting, it was not this.

‘Mrs. West? I don’t know. Wait a bit, I believe Newbury did mention it. There was something about her being new to the place. It came up in connection with her being alone in the house with the child. He said she probably wouldn’t know anyone she could ask to come in.’

Miss Silver pulled on a pale pink ball.

‘That is what I imagined. I think it probable that Mrs. West’s move to Emsworth followed upon Sir Herbert’s purchase of Vineyards.’

‘And the meaning of that is?’

‘I am wondering whether Miss Whitaker’s concern was so much for her sister as for a child who might have suffered if deprived of proper attention. May I ask whether Inspector Newbury mentioned the child’s age?’

‘Yes, I think he did-a little boy of eight. You mean?’

Her needles clicked. She said,

‘It is possible. It would, I think, explain some things, and suggest some others.’

As she spoke the last word, the door was opened. Frederick appeared, towering over the Professor. His ‘Professor Richardson-’ was a superfluity, since that gentleman immediately bounded into the room, his bald crown gleaming, the ruff of red hair standing up about it like a hedge. His deep voice boomed.

‘Well, Inspector, here I am! And what do you want with me? Newbury asked me all the questions in the world yesterday morning. You asked them all over again in the evening, and here we are again. I suppose you sit up all night thinking up new ones. It beats me how you do it.’

As soon as he drew breath he was introduced to Miss Silver.

‘Friend of Lady Dryden’s? Much upset, I suppose. Can’t imagine her upset, but suppose she is. I said so to Mrs. Considine-met her on my way here. And do you know what she said? She was at school with Lady Dryden, you know. Said she’d never seen her upset in her life. Didn’t allow things to upset her-that’s the way she put it. Said if there was a row or anything, Sybil always came out of it with everything going her way. I’ve known people like that myself. It’s quite a gift. But they’re not much liked-I’ve noticed that.’

He had come up to the fire, and stood there, leaning over it and rubbing his hands. He turned about now and addressed himself to Miss Silver.

‘The fact is, people who don’t have any misfortunes are very irritating to their neighbours. No opportunities for popping in with condolences and new-laid eggs. No visits to the afflicted. No opportunities for the milk of human kindness to flow. Naturally it doesn’t.’

He was so ruddy, so glowing, so pleased with himself, that it became every moment more difficult to picture him in the rôle of first murderer. And the motive-a dispute over the authenticity of an antique dagger? Memory stirred and provided Frank Abbott with a vista of belligerent letters to The Times-about this, about that, about anything. Disputes-the man’s past has been fairly littered with them. But no corpses. Then why now? The whole thing appeared in a ridiculous light. Yet the fact remained that the Professor had certainly been in this room on the night of the murder, and that fact he would have to explain.

As the booming voice stopped, Frank said in his quiet drawl,

‘Do you mind telling me which way you came in the other night?’

The Professor turned a pair of gleaming spectacles upon him.

‘What do you mean, the other night?’

‘The night Sir Herbert was murdered.’

‘Then how do you mean, which way did I come in? Which way does one usually come in? I came here to dine. I rang the bell, and I was let in by that six and a half foot of tallow candle, young Frederick What’s-his-name. He’ll tell you so if you ask him.’

Frank Abbott nodded.

‘Naturally. But that wasn’t the time I was talking about. You dined here, and you went away at half past ten, just after Mr. and Mrs. Considine. What I want to know is, when did you come back, and why?’

‘When did I come back? What do you mean, sir?’

‘Just what I say. You came back-probably to this door on to the terrace. You attracted Sir Herbert’s attention, and he let you in.’

The Professor blew out his cheeks, and said, ‘Pah!’

Frank, listening to the sound, reflected that it really was more like ‘Pah!’ than ‘Pooh!’ It was followed immediately by the word ‘Nonsense!’ delivered upon a growling note.

He continued equably.

‘I don’t think so. I think you did come to that door.’

Professor Richardson glared.

‘What you think isn’t evidence, young man. What my housekeeper can swear to is. She will tell you I was in by a quarter to eleven, and that is that!’