Dead Mrs Stratton (Jumping Jenny)

CHAPTER XI A HIVE IN THE HELMETS

ROGER found Inspector Crane on the roof, talking to Ronald Stratton. A uniformed constable hovered in the background.

"Good - morning, Inspector," Roger said cheerfully.

"Good - morning, sir. Funny, I was just saying to Mr. Stratton, could I have a word with you up here."

"Were you? A lucky arrival, then." Roger glanced round with interest. He had not seen the roof in daylight before, and it did not look quite as he had imagined it in the dark. Much smaller, for one thing, and the arbour was almost at the end, instead of nearly in the middle as he had thought. The gallows were exactly in the middle, and from them still hung the two remaining straw effigies. In the sunlight these looked merely ludicrous and no longer in the least grisly.

The inspector and Ronald were standing close to the gallows, and Roger intercepted a surreptitious wink from the latter which puzzled him slightly.

"It's about this chair, Mr. Sheringham," the inspector explained, in a somewhat apologetic voice, and pointed at the chair lying on its side underneath the gallows.

A tiny stab of alarm pierced Roger's chest, but he answered easily enough.

"Oh, yes? What about it?"

"Well, sir, you see how it's lying, right underneath the rope. Now I've taken measurements, and it appears that the poor lady would have been able to stand on it quite easily if it had been like that. These rungs support me, as I've tried, so they would quite easily have supported her."

"Yes, I see what you mean. But perhaps it's been moved."

"That's just what I wanted to ask you, Mr. Sheringham. Was it, to your knowledge, moved last night, while you and Mr. Stratton were cutting the poor lady down?"

Roger looked, as meaningly as he dared, at Ronald. He did not want his reply to clash with any story that Ronald might have told.

"Well, that's rather difficult to say," he answered cautiously. "Do you remember if it got moved, Ronald?"

To Roger's horror Ronald said brightly: "No, I can't say. As a matter of fact I was just telling the inspector that I don't remember it being there at all when we were cutting her down."

After a moment's stupefaction before this stupidity, Roger regained control of himself. "Don't you? Oh, I think I do. It was rather in the way. Yes, I expect someone must have kicked it aside, Inspector."

"Yes, I can understand that, sir," agreed the inspector, in a worried voice, "but why was it put back again?"

"Oh, well - probably someone just kicked it back. In any case, I don't think it's a point of any importance, is it?"

"No, Mr. Sheringham. Probably not. I just didn't quite understand about it, and I thought you might have been able to give me some information."

"Yes, well, you see, Inspector, it isn't the kind of thing about which one can be very accurate. I daresay I ought to have noticed exactly the position of the chair when Mr. Stratton and I got up here, but I'm afraid I was much more concerned in finding out if she was really dead, and trying to save her life if she wasn't."

"Yes, sir, of course. Yes, I quite understand that. No doubt it's of no importance at all."

"And there was a certain amount of confusion up here, you must remember. Mr. Stratton and I, and Mr. Williamson and Mr. Nicolson, too. And it was quite dark. No, I think it's only surprising that the chair didn't end up in the garden below, instead of more or less where it started from."

"Yes, no doubt you're quite right, Mr. Sheringham," agreed the inspector and made a note in his little book. But he did not sound quite so convinced as Roger would have liked.

Ronald Stratton, who had been viewing this exchange apparently with tolerant amusement, said: "Well, that was all you wanted to ask Mr. Sheringham, Inspector?"

'It's all very well, my dear Ronald,' thought Roger, 'but there is such a thing as overconfidence.' He was astonished that Ronald should have made such a blunder over the chair for the second time. Apparently he still did not realize its vital importance.

"Yes, I think so, Mr. Stratton, thank you," the inspector replied, perhaps a little uncertainly.

"And you've finished up here?"

"For the time being, sir, yes."

"Then come down into the house and let me give you a glass of beer. It's getting on for twelve o'clock."

"Thank you, Mr. Stratton, I wish I could say yes, but I have to see the superintendent. I'll just say a word to my man, and then I must be off." The inspector walked aside and said a few words to his constable in a low voice. Neither Roger nor Stratton could overhear them, nor tried.

"You'll have a spot of beer, Roger?" Ronald remarked, more in the manner of one making a statement than asking a question.

"Thanks," Roger agreed. "I will."

"I'll come upstairs again, when I've seen the inspector off."

"No," said Roger, "I'll come down." He wanted a closed door between them and the rest of the world while he said a few firm words to Ronald on the topic of his imbecility, and the late barroom was altogether too public.

They escorted the inspector politely to the front door, chatting about the weather, and Stratton took Roger into his study. "I keep a cask in here," he said happily. "It's handier. This cupboard might have been specially built for a cask, mightn't it?"

"Yes," said Roger. "Look here, Ronald . . ."

Ronald looked round from the tankard he was filling. "Yes?"

"I want to speak to you, in words of one syllable. Don't, you inconceivable bonehead, say anything more about not remembering that chair being there when we were taking down the body last night."

Ronald turned off the tap, put the other tankard under it, and turned it on again.

"What's that? Why not?"

"Because," Roger explained, with suppressed fury, "the presence of that chair, nincompoop, means suicide, and its absence means - murder. Think it out, and you'll see."

Ronald Stratton turned a suddenly white face over his shoulder and stared at Roger, while the beer ran unheeded over the top of the tankard.

"Good lord!" he muttered. "That had simply never occurred to me."

He turned back, mechanically stopped the flow from the cask, and got to his feet. "I say, Roger . . ."

"No," Roger interrupted quickly. "Much better not."

Ronald didn't. They drank their beer looking surreptitiously at each other.

Then Roger said, in quite a casual voice: "Want any help in getting things down from the roof, Ronald? There are still some things up there - chairs and things. It's nice and sunny now, but who knows whether it mayn't rain later, in April?"

Ronald grinned. "That's quite a sound idea, Roger. Yes, I'd like your help."

They finished off their tankards and went solemnly up to the roof. With a nod to the constable, who was still loitering there, Ronald walked over to the nearest pair of chairs, near the steps that led to the sun parlour. Before he could touch them, however, the constable had lifted his voice.

"Sorry, Mr. Stratton, sir, were you wanting anything?"

"Yes, we're going to take these chairs and things into the house, in case it rains later. It's April, you know."

"I'm sorry, sir," said the constable portentously, "but the inspector said for me to see that nothing wasn't moved up here."

"He did?" Roger could not tell whether Stratton was really surprised or was only acting surprise; in either case he sounded highly surprised "But why?"

"Couldn't tell you, sir. But that's what he said. Nothing to be moved, nor touched. He left me here for the purpose."

"What on earth . . ." said Stratton and lifted his eyebrows at Roger.

"But surely Inspector Crane didn't mean that nothing was to be touched on the whole roof, Constable?" Roger came to the rescue.

"Sorry, sir, those are my orders. Nothing to be moved on this roof, nor yet touched."

"Oh, well!" Roger shrugged his shoulders. "There must be some mistake, I think, but you'll have to wait for the inspector to put it right, Ronald. Inspector Crane will be coming back soon, I take it, as he's left you here?" he added to the constable.

"'Bout half an hour, he said, sir."

"I see. Well, Ronald, we must just wait, that's all. Shall we go in?"

As they went down the stairs, Ronald said: "Surely that's rather queer, Sheringham, isn't it?"

"Oh, no, I don't think so," Roger replied. "Probably the superintendent has told Crane he'd like to have a look at the scene before things are moved, and Crane's gone off to get him."

"But Crane didn't say anything last night about things not being moved on the roof, when I took him up there."

"Well, he hadn't seen the superintendent then, had he?" Roger said smoothly. But he felt a little uneasy. It certainly was rather queer.

Downstairs they found Colin, reading the Sunday Times in front of the hall fire. "Hullo, Colin, all alone?" said Ronald. "None of the women down yet?"

"No, nor Osbert either, the lazy hound. Oh, by the way, Ronald, I told you I'd be pushing off after lunch. Sorry, I've got to change my plans. I'll be staying tonight."

"Well, we shall be very glad to have you, Colin. Decided your appointment wasn't so urgent after all?"

"Not a bit of it. I met that inspector chap as I was coming in just now, and he asked me was it a fact that I was going off after lunch? I said it was; and he told me there was nothing doing, or words to that effect."

"Told you you couldn't go?" Ronald said incredulously.

"Well, not quite like that. He said I should probably be wanted at the inquest tomorrow, and it would be a great convenience to him if I stayed; so of course I said I would. But if I'd said I couldn't, I wouldn't put it past him to have told me I'd jolly well got to. He had that sort of look in his eye."

"The devil he had!" said Ronald.

The half - hour passed slowly, and as it passed Roger's uneasiness grew. He knew the signs, and be knew the ways of the police. The inspector was not satisfied: that was quite obvious. But what on earth could have managed to rouse his dissatisfaction? If it was just the position of the chair, then that really was the most thundering bad luck; for had everything been as innocent as it could be, it was inevitable that the chair should have been kicked about a bit, with four men scrimmaging round it. The inspector could hardly have expected that it could have been left quite untouched.

No, in spite of his deferential manner Inspector Crane must be a busybody. With a death at such a house as Sedge Park, he saw his chance of making himself important. If he could find a few niggling points over which to raise queries, he could get his name put forward as a keen man. And the devil of it was that, without knowing it, Inspector Crane might be carrying a match towards a powder magazine. If he really did begin to uncover the surface, heaven knew what train he might not fire. Roger hoped most sincerely, and with all the fervour of a guilty conscience, that Inspector Crane's match might prove a damp one.

The same constraint seemed to be resting on the others as on himself. They sat, in gloomy silence, round the big open fireplace and rustled their newspapers; but it was doubtful if any of the three read very much. As the time passed, Roger began to feel more and more like a schoolboy before a house match: that nasty sensation of sick emptiness. And if he felt like that, what must Ronald Stratton be feeling?

For Ronald's reception of the warning about the chair had gone all the way to confirm Roger's conclusion. There had been real fear on the face that Ronald had shown him: and in these circumstances fear could surely be caused only by a knowledge of guilt, either on his own behalf or David's. Well, Roger would do all he possibly could for him, but there might be some awkward times ahead, with this infernal inspector raking over the dung heap. It would look bad, uncommonly bad, if the man brought to light the feelings with which the Stratton family in general had regarded Ena; and precious little raking would be needed to do that.

A few minutes after twelve o'clock Mr. Williamson appeared, looking perhaps a trifle yellow round the eyes, and, with a perfunctory remark or two, added himself to the silent circle. Again the rustling of newspapers was the only sound in the hall.

Once Ronald Stratton betrayed his anxiety by a muttered remark. "I thought the constable said Crane would be back in half an hour? It's forty minutes already since he went."

At twenty - five minutes past twelve Ronald's parlourmaid presented herself at Williamson's side and said, in a flat voice which must have masked much interior fluttering: "I beg your pardon, sir, but Inspector Crane would like to speak to you for a moment, on the roof."

"What? To me, did you say? He wants to speak to me?"

"If you please, sir."

"Inspector Crane?" Stratton repeated. "I didn't know he was here, Edith."

"Yes, sir. He came about a quarter of an hour ago, with Superintendent Jamieson and another gentleman."

"But I never saw them come, and I've been in here all the time."

"They came to the back door, sir."

"But why didn't you tell me?"

"They said they were just going up to the roof for a minute or two, sir, and it wasn't necessary to disturb you, so I didn't think to tell you."

"I see. Well, if they come - if anyone comes like that another time, Edith, I think you'd better let me know."

"Very good, sir."

"What's up?" asked Williamson, as the parlourmaid disappeared. "Eh? What's it all about? What's he want to see me for? I saw him last night and told him everything I knew. What's he want to see me again for?"

"I don't know, Osbert, but presumably you'd better go."

"Yes, I suppose I had. Well, I wonder what the devil he wants to see me for."

Williamson began to climb the staircase which led up from one end of the big hall.

Roger watched his back in an agonized way. He was quite sure there was some terribly important thing he must say to Williamson before the interview, some warning hint he must give him which would smooth everything out. There was such a thing, but his mind seemed paralysed. He could think of nothing at all. In a kind of hopeless despair he watched Williamson out of sight.

"Well," Ronald muttered, "and what the deuce do you make of that?"

Colin looked at them over the huge hornrimmed spectacles he used for reading. "Dirty work in the camp?" he asked tentatively.

"Don't know yet," Roger answered, in a tone to discourage further questions in front of Ronald.

Ronald made a movement as if to rise. "Shall I go up?" he asked.

"Better not," Roger said. "They obviously don't want you."

"The superintendent has come, then."

"Yes. I thought that's what it might be."

"Yes. I wonder who the other one is?"

"Oh, some plain - clothes man, I expect."

"I expect so. But why on earth should they want Williamson?"

"Well, he found the body, didn't he?"

"Oh, yes, so he did. Yes, that's why the superintendent wants to see him, of course. Just routine, I suppose?"

"That's it, no doubt. Just routine." But Roger did not think it was routine at all. Williamson was away for twenty minutes, and they were the longest twenty minutes that Roger had ever known.

Williamson was wearing his guilty grin. "Third degree's nothing to it," he said, as he dropped into his chair.

"Nothing to what, Osbert?" asked Colin. "To what they've been putting me through up there. Eh? This is a nice party of yours, Ronald. Haven't you even got a drink to offer me? Eh? Haven't you?"

"Damn drinks. Are the police still up there?"

"You bet they are. The superintendent, the inspector, two constables, and . . ."

"What did they want to see you for?"

"Oh, a lot of dam' nonsense. Wanted me to tell the superintendent everything I told the inspector last night, and a hell of a lot more. How I found the body, which way it was facing, how far I thought the feet were off the ground, where some chair or other was, how . . ."

Roger uttered an exclamation. He had remembered at last what the thing was about which he should have warned Williamson: the chair. He ought to have inserted into Williamson's consciousness, just as he had tried last night to insert it into Colin's, the idea that the chair had been there from the beginning. Now it was too late.

"Eh, Sheringham? What did you say?"

"Nothing. Oh, yes. What did you tell them about the chair?" Roger avoided Colin's eye.

"Told them I couldn't remember, of course. HOW could I possibly remember a thing like that?"

"And what did they say to that?"

"Told me to try and remember. Told me to try and throw my mind back to the moment I found the body, and see if I couldn't picture the scene and all that, and where was the chair? Well, I did remember as a matter of fact that it couldn't have been in the middle of the gallows, because I walked clean through them. So I said it must have been under the body."

"Yes?"

"And then they said it couldn't have been under the body, or Mrs. Stratton would have been able to stand on it. So I said it must have been beyond the body, then, mustn't it? Well, it must, mustn't it? So then they asked me if I remembered now that it was beyond the body, and so I was getting a bit fed up and said I did, and would I swear to it, and I said no, I wouldn't swear to it, because I wasn't prepared to swear to it, but that's where it must have been and now for heaven's sake, Ronald, let me have a drink. I've been through the third degree, man. Eh? You don't seem to understand. What with the police and then Lilian, and now you people . . ."

"Lilian?" said Colin idly.

"I met her on the stairs, and of course she had to know all about everything too." Mr. Williamson sighed deeply, as a husband will.

Roger was considering Mr. Williamson's story. Williamson had given him better luck than might have been expected. At any rate he had not denied the presence of the chair altogether, as he very well might have done. But according to Williamson's account, the police had framed their questions in a rather odd way; they had seemed much more concerned with the exact position of the chair than with the possibility of its total absence. Did that mean that they really were worrying only over Inspector Crane's ridiculously insignificant point and the other alternative had never occurred to them at all? If so, they were more foolish than Roger would have expected; but he would be very grateful to them for their foolishness.

Williamson sipped the glass of sherry with which he had now been provided and continued his story: "Well, I don't know what else there is to tell you. They kept on asking me that sort of thing, and the inspector wrote most of it down. Where? Oh, we were in the sun parlour. Didn't I tell you that? Eh? Yes, that's where we were. The inspector and the superintendent and me. In the sun parlour.

"Oh, I know something else they asked me about. Yes, look here, Ronald, they're onto the state of affairs about your sister - in - law. Like hell they are. You'd better watch out there. I mean, they might make a spot of trouble over that, mightn't they? Eh? Driven to suicide, poor girl, because of being cold - shouldered and all that, you know."

"What state of affairs?" Ronald demanded.

"Why, my dear fellow, that all of you hated the woman like poison. What? You did, didn't you? Well, they're on to it all right."

"How do you mean?"

"Why, they kept asking me had I noticed during the evening any coolness between Mrs. Stratton and any of the members of her husband's family? Had I noticed any bad blood and what's - its - name? Did I know that Mrs. Stratton was not persona grata or whatever you call it in this house? Had I seen a quarrel between Mrs. Stratton and her husband during the evening?"

"Well?" Ronald said sharply. "What did you say to that?"

"Oh, I didn't give you away. It's perfectly all right. Of course I told them it was all news to me, I hadn't noticed anything; so far as I'd seen, your brother and she seemed a particularly affectionate couple; you all appeared not to be able to do enough for her. It's quite all right," said Mr. Williamson with pride. "I handed out the dope good and strong."

"I see," said Roger. "And the police are still up there? Any idea what they're doing, Williamson?"

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Williamson cheerfully. "They're still taking photographs. They've been at it all the time, with the inspector popping in and out of the sun parlour like a jack - in - the - box, trying to do two things at once."

"Did you say they're taking photographs?" said Roger, in rather a strained voice.

"That's it. There's a professional photographer there from Westerford, I believe, though how they got hold of him on a Sunday morning I don't know. Anyhow, they've got him there, taking photographs of the roof and the gallows and heaven knows what, from every angle they can think of. Seemed a bit unnecessary to me, I must say, but I suppose they think differently. Keen chaps, your police here, Ronald."

"Very," said Ronald flatly.

"May I suggest," said Roger elaborately, "that this room is open to the staircase, and Williamson has rather a strong voice?"

As he spoke, the telephone bell rang. Ronald disappeared into his study to answer it. Roger and Colin exchanged glances. Colin, peering over his glasses, lifted his eyebrows. In reply, Roger shrugged his shoulders. Both of them looked grave.

"I say," said Mr. Williamson seriously. "I say, Sheringham."

"Yes?"

"I say, this is really awfully good sherry of Ronald's. Have you tried it? You should. I wonder where he gets it. You've no idea, Colin, have you? Eh? Have you?"

"Ach, shut up, Osbert," said Colin. Mr. Williamson looked surprised but not very hurt.

Ronald appeared at the door of his study. "Sheringham," he said, "can I speak to you for a minute in here?"

"Of course," said Roger, jumping up. He hurried across the hall. Ronald shut the study door. Roger did not bother to disguise his anxiety. "More bad news?" he asked.

Ronald nodded. "That was my brother on the telephone. He says the police have just taken Ena's body away from the house. They're taking her to the mortuary. I say, this is serious, isn't it?"

"It might be. Look here, Ronald. Get your brother on the telephone again and ask him to lunch here, at once. Never mind if he turns up late. It's the best excuse for having him up here. And tell him to answer no questions from anyone until I've seen him -"

"Yes, I will. Thanks. David's a bit ... What does it mean, Roger? That the police aren't satisfied, I suppose? Goodness only knows why not but that must be what it means. That they've got some sort of a bee in their bonnets?"

"A bee?" said Roger unhappily. "A hive!"

The lunch gong brought the women downstairs. Fortunately the continued presence of the police in the house was looked upon by them as part of the normal procedure, so that while lunch could hardly be called a cheerful meal, there was at any rate no spirit of general apprehension. Halfway through it David arrived, very haggard and curt, and his presence naturally added a further constraint to the gathering.

Immediately the meal was over, Roger made a sign to Ronald, who said a low word to David and carried him off. Coming back at once, he said to Roger:

"He's in my study. Shall I come along?"

"No," said Roger and went off to the study alone.

He had been debating during the lunch how exactly to convey his warning to David without appearing to know everything and yet without minimizing the danger. The compromise on which he had decided had the weakness of all compromises, but it was the best one he could find.

"Look here, Stratton," he said, without beating about the bush, "you know what this means, of course, taking your wife's body off to the mortuary, and messing about on the roof, as the police have been doing. It means that they're not satisfied that your wife's death was quite so uncomplicated as it looked at first. I'm not in their confidence, so I don't know what their trouble is; but at a guess, it might be that there was last night some special motive, some particular incident or scene, such as a quarrel, which led to her taking her life and which has not yet been disclosed. Now whether there was anything of the sort I don't know and I don't want to know, any more than I want to know the exact details of her last moments. But if there was, and it comes to light, there's bound to be a great deal of mud - slinging over the case; and that I do want to prevent for all our sakes.

"So I'd like to impress on you that it's essential for you, of all of us, to have a perfectly simple story for the police, which can easily be supported elsewhere, so that they can understand that you didn't follow your wife up onto the roof when she ran out of the ballroom and quarrel with her there, or anything like that. You understand that, don't you?"

"Well, that's perfectly simple," David said shortly. "I . . ."

"Wait a minute. Let me tell you. I know you didn't go up there, because I was with you myself for at least ten minutes, at the bar. You remember? We were talking about the test matches and the absurd fuss the Australians made because Haye bowled at their leg stumps instead of their off stumps. I'm your alibi for that time. Then Colin Nicolson joined us, and I strolled up onto the roof for a minute or two myself - where, I may say, I saw no sign of your wife, who must have been in the sun parlour."

"Why?" asked David curtly.

"Why?" Roger repeated.

"Yes. Why must she have been in the sun parlour? It was ten minutes, or more. That was plenty of time for her to have done it."

"Of course," said Roger hurriedly. He had completely forgotten that his very first theory had exonerated David because of those ten minutes. Of course that was David's best defence. The doctors' report as to the time of death must be firmly taken for granted. It had been clever of David to see that.

"Of course," he repeated. "I don't know why I said that she was probably in the sun parlour. Most likely she had done it already. Still, there's no harm in your having a margin of safety, so we'll just get it exact. I left you, and you stayed with Nicolson another three or four minutes. And then," said Roger with meaning, "you followed him straight into the ballroom, didn't you, where your brother no doubt and other people saw you?"

"Not at once," said David obtusely. "I went down to the bathroom first."

"No, you didn't," Roger retorted, with some exasperation. "You never went near the bathroom. You followed Nicolson straight into the ballroom. In fact, you both went together. He remembers you did."

A very faint smile appeared on David's pale face. "Yes, that's right. I remember now, too. And if you want to know, I went straight up to Agatha and asked her to dance, because I hadn't been able to dance with her before. My wife," said David in an expressionless voice, "didn't like her. God knows why."

"Exactly. She'll remember that too. And you stayed with her some time, of course, and after that you were never alone until Ronald actually saw you off the premises."

"Ronald didn't. I ..."

"Yes, he did."

"Oh, all right. It, all seems very unnecessary," said David wearily, "but I suppose you're right." Roger snorted.

Leaving the study, Roger hurried off in search of Mrs. Lefroy. He ran her to earth in the drawing room, detached her from a group, and led her outside the door. Time was short, and he could not mince matters. "You remember when I took David off to have a drink, after his wife had flung herself out of the ballroom? Well, I didn't come back with him. Colin Nicolson did. You remember seeing them come in, don't you?"

"No," said Mrs. Lefroy doubtfully. "I remember David coming and sitting by me, but I think that was some time later, wasn't it?"

"It was exactly thirteen minutes after I took him out, but you don't know that. What you do know is that you saw him and Colin come into the ballroom together, and David came straight across and joined you."

Mrs. Lefroy was a rare woman. "Yes," she said at once. "I remember perfectly."

"Bless you," said Roger. "Where's Ronald?"

Ronald was discovered in the study, with David. They were not talking.

"Go home, David," said Roger. "You mustn't be here too much. We don't want to look like a conspiracy, whether we are one or not. Go home and stick to your story, and you'll be all right." David went.

"The police have gone," Ronald said. "Shall we . . ."

"Damn the police," said Roger. "They'll be back soon enough."

"Yes, I'm afraid so. By the way, they've altered the place of the inquest. It's to be in Westerford now, not here."

Roger nodded. "I expected that. Now listen to me, Ronald, because I'm going to speak very carefully - "He repeated the gambit which he had already used on David.

"Yes," said Ronald. "I understand perfectly. But I don't think you do."

"I don't want to, any more than that," Roger said quickly. "All I want you to do is to look after your own alibi, because I haven't the time, and be ready to swear that you went down to the front door with your brother and saw him out of the house."

"Oh, my alibi's all right," Ronald said carelessly. "I never left the ballroom at all from the time Ena went out of it till just before David went, when I was at the bar with you."

"You didn't?" said Roger. So it had been David after all.

"No. Heaps of people can swear to that. But, look here, Roger," said Ronald anxiously, "are you quite sure David's is all right? Is it really cast iron?"

"Absolutely. No, not cast iron. Not so brittle. Wrought iron. I've just," said Roger with a smile, "been forging it."

"Ah! Well, listen, Roger," Ronald said slowly, "I want to speak carefully to you, too. I haven't said a word to David, and he hasn't said a word to me. I quite agree with you that it's much better not to know anything. I can see that's your line, and it's the right one. But I do just want to say this, Roger. That woman utterly deserved - well, anything she got."

"I know she did," Roger said, not without emotion. "And that's just why I'm not knowing anything at all. But I'll say this, Ronald: Everything will be all right."

"Sure?"

"Sure. You see, after all, there's no evidence at all. Not to say, evidence."

Fleeing any more emotion, Roger hurried off in search of Colin. The police might be back at any moment, and Roger wanted everything nice and simple for them when they came.

Colin was smoking his pipe with Williamson on the lawn in front of the house. Roger called him aside and began once more. "Colin, after I'd gone up on the roof last night and left you with David, you didn't go back to the ballroom alone. David went with you."

"But I've told you already I ..."

"Colin, I haven't got much time. Listen. David went with you. Mrs. Lefroy remembers seeing you both come in together. And," said Roger with emphasis, "David himself remembers that he went in with you. David himself remembers it, Colin."

"Oh!" said Colin slowly.

"Yes, you were wrong, I'm afraid. But the lad's perfectly safe, so long as you remember just that thing."

"Of course I remember we went in together, said Colin firmly. "Haven't I told you so all along?"

"Then thank goodness that's settled." Roger mopped his brow and took a breath of relief.

"But, Roger, man, what are the police up to? Do you mean to tell me they smell a rat? What were they doing, taking photographs on the roof?"

"I don't know," Roger admitted. "But that appears to be my next job, to find out. Little did I think that the Great Detective would ever come down to detecting what the official detectives may have detected already. Well, well."

"Does it look serious, do you think?"

"No, I don't think so really," Roger said, as they walked back towards the house. "It's alarming, of course, but I don't see how it can possibly be serious. They can't have anything more than the vaguest suspicions; and suspicion never even arrested anyone without some kind of evidence, too, let alone hanged him. Anyhow, if the coast's clear we'll see if we can make out what they've been up to."

The coast was clear and the roof unguarded. Even the large constable had been withdrawn. "Ah!" said Roger and looked round. At a first glance everything seemed exactly the same. "Well, I don't know what the deuce they were at, unless they really were still worried about that chair," said Roger and walked towards the gallows.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed in surprise. "It's gone!" He looked round again. Undoubtedly the chair was gone. Three chairs still stood on the roof, but exactly as they had stood before. The fourth, under the gallows, had disappeared.

"Let's see if it's in the sun parlour," said Roger. It was not in the sun parlour. "Well, what on earth would they want to take it away for?" asked Colin, no less puzzled.

"Heaven only knows." Roger was beginning to feel worried, in the way that the inexplicable does worry. "I can't make it out at all. The only importance in the chair to them was its position with regard to the gallows. As an object apart from its position, I can't see how it could possibly interest them." Already such a simple act as the carrying away of the chair was beginning to look sinister. Roger felt perfectly equal to combating the known moves of an opponent, but this was an unknown one, and how can one combat that?

"Ach," Colin tried to be reassuring, "they're just daft. Trying to be too clever, that's all."

"No," Roger worried. "No, I don't think that can be it. They must have had some reason." He stared at the roof where the chair had lain. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation and dropped on his hands and knees, to peer intently at that same bit of roof.

"Have you found something?" Colin asked eagerly.

Roger blew gently at the ground, and then again. Then he got up and faced Colin. "I know why they took that chair away," he said slowly. "Colin, I'm afraid we're rather up against it."

"What do you mean, man?"

"I was wrong when I said they were working just on suspicion, with no evidence to back it. They have got evidence. Can you see faint traces of grey powder there? That's insufflator powder. They've been trying to take fingerprints off that chair, and they've found that there aren't any at all - not even Ena's."