The Unfinished Clue (21 page)

"I should, please," Harding answered.

"Then I will do so," said Mr. Tremlowe, and walked over to the desk, and sat down in the swivel-chair.

Fay gave a tiny shudder. Geoffrey said in an undertone to Dinah: "This room feels absolutely ghastly . I wish he wouldn't be so beastly slow; I shall be damned glad to get out of here."

It seemed a long while before Mr. Tremlowe looked up from his task. "There are one hundred and ten pounds here, in notes of varying denominations, and ten pounds' worth of silver," he announced, and methodically slipped the rubber band round the bundle again.

Harding looked at Fay, who was frowning. "One hundred and twenty pounds?" she said. "Are you sure, Mr. Tremlowe?"

"Perfectly," said the lawyer placidly.

"There must be more than that," she said. "I mean, there ought to be more. One hundred and twenty pounds couldn't possibly cover all the expenses."

"Your husband paid no bills by cheque?" suggested I l arding.

"No, not local ones. He always used to say it was wasting twopence to do that. I can't understand it."

Geoffrey said, stammering slightly: "D-do you mean someone's robbed the safe, Inspector?"

"I have no idea," replied Harding. "But a visit to your lather's bank will tell us what was the exact sum he drew un Monday morning."

"If anyone robbed the safe, why not have taken the lot?" said Dinah practically. "He must have paid bills in Ralton before he came home."

"That we can easily find out," said Harding, and glanced at his wrist-watch. "I'll go along to the bank now, if you will tell me which one it is, Lady Billington-Smith, and if you, Mr. Tremlowe, will let me have the numbers of those notes."

Five minutes later his car swept past the window. Fay, who had been staring unseeingly at the safe, raised her eyes and said breathlessly: "If someone did steal the money it means — don't you see, Dinah - it means I was right, and it must have been someone from outside who killed Arthur!"

"Well, we shall see," said Dinah. "Meanwhile, let's go and sit somewhere else."

Mr. Tremlowe rose from his chair. "With permission, Lady Billington-Smith, I will take charge of these notes. And' - he looked over the top of his spectacles at the Sergeant —- "if you care to remain with me, Sergeant, I will go through the papers in the safe while we are waiting for the Inspector to return."

The other three went out into the hall again, and after a moment's indecision Fay said that she supposed tley had better join the rest of the party.

Miss de Silva had not, of course, come downstairs , yet, but Guest and the Hallidays were on the terrace. Camilla, who was one of those people who never seened to get any time for reading, had now ample leisure to indulge her declared passion for literature and, in proof of her sincerity, was flicking over the pages of a novel selected at random from Fay's book-shelves. Stephen Guest, whom she had attempted, quite unavailingly, to engage in conversation, was hidden behind The Times and Halliday was sitting in a deep chair with a pipe clenched between his teeth, and his moody gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

When the others came out on to the terrace, Camilla closed her book immediately, and sat up. "Well, have you opened the safe, and was everything all right?" she inquired.

"We don't know until we find out just how much money my husband drew on Monday," answered Fay, apparently feeling that there was no need to admit Camilla further into her confidence. "Geoffrey, did Mr. Tremlowe mention what time we were to expect Francis? I wonder if I had better warn Finch that he may be here for lunch?"

"Oh, is Captain Billington-Smith coming back?" said Camilla, brightening visibly. "He'll cheer us up!"

"Cheer who up?" snapped Geoffrey disagreeably.

"Well, all of us! I mean, somebody from outside will make a sort of break, in a way, don't you think?"

"No, I don't," said Geoffrey.

Camilla bridled, and gave vent to a somewhat metallic laugh. "Well, all I can say is that some of us seem to be in need of cheering up - not to mention any names!"

"Oh, do be quiet, Camilla!" said Basil wearily.

Guest, who had risen when Fay came on to the terrace, drew her a little apart, and was talking to her in a low voice. Camilla said meaningly: "Or perhaps some of us don't happen to need any cheering up. One never knows!"

"Well, I don't," said Dinah. "I think the whole situation's rather funny."

"Well!" gasped Camilla, quite diverted by this skilful red herring. "What a thing to say! Funny, when Sir Arthur's been murdered, and one of us is the person who did it!"

Halliday got up, rasping his chair across the paved floor of the terrace. "For God's sake shut up!" he said roughly. "Do you think we want that thrown at us? Aren't things bad enough as it is? Oh, lord, can't we do something instead of sitting about and looking at each other?"

"That's just it," said Geoffrey gloomily. "What can we do? Personally, I'm ready to do what anyone wants but we can't play tennis, which is the obvious thing least, Fay thinks it would look rather bad, and I suppose she's right, really. I don't know about billiards: it's rather different - I mean, it's a quiet game, and indoors. I dont think we ought to play snooker, but a hundred up billiards surely can't offend anybody."

"Thanks very much," said Camilla. "And I suppose I can mark for you? That will be nice!"

"Why don't you play Bridge?" suggested Dinah. "You can play on the terrace, and Stephen can make a fourth."

"Oh, do you think we ought?" said Camilla. "Would'nt it be rather heartless? I'd give anything for something to do, but I couldn't bear to show disrespect to poor Sir Arthur's memory."

"Well, I don't know about cards," said Geoffrey doubtfully. "Of course, we wouldn't play for money , at any rate, only for something very small. What do you think, Halliday?"

"I don't see why we shouldn't. It's not as though we were proposing to play poker. Lady Billington-Smith, have you any objection to us having a rubber of Bridge:'

"Bridge?" said Fay vaguely. "Do you think you ought to? It isn't that I mind, only Geoffrey, what do you feel about it?"

"Well, I can't see why we shouldn't, if we only play for three pence a hundred," declared Geoffrey. "Stephen will you come and make a fourth?"

"Yes, sure," said Guest amiably.

"That's settled them anyway," remarked Dinah, leadng her sister into the house. "Come on, ducky, you've got to try on the raiment I've brought home on approval."

Twenty minutes later, Francis Billington-Smith walked through the drawing-room and stood for a moment framed by the window, somewhat cynically observing the card-players. "What a touching sight!" he drawled. "The bereaved household! Little Geoffrey, too just bearing up, I see."

Camilla jumped, and looked over her shoulder. "Oh, Captain Billington-Smith, how you startled me!"

"Oh, so you've arrived, have you?" said Geoffrey. "I suppose I can play Bridge if I want to without asking your permission? Two down, vulnerable. That's two hundred and fifty to them above. What on earth you put me up for, Stephen, I can't imagine. Cut, please, Camilla."

Camilla's attention, however, was all for Francis, to whom she was already pouring out a garbled version of Sir Arthur's murder and a description of her own psychological reactions to it.

Francis broke in on this. "So interesting!" he said politely. "But as I don't know yet when my uncle was murdered or where, or by whom, these observations are somewhat lost on me. Would somebody not Geoffrey, I think - be kind enough to enlighten me?"

"Your uncle was stabbed in his study between twelve and one o'clock on Monday morning," stated Guest. "We don't know by whom."

"Stabbed?" Francis repeated.

"Yes, with the Chinese dagger he used as a paper knife," said Guest unemotionally.

Francis looked rather white. "My God!" he said. He put his hand into his pocket and mechanically drew out his thin gold cigarette-case and opened it. The fingers that groped for a cigarette were just a trifle unsteady "What an appalling thing!" he said.

Geoffrey eyed him with resentment. "Yes, and it's damned sight more appalling for us than for you, let mo tell you. You weren't here. We were."

Francis shut his case and tapped his cigarette on it.

"Rather appalling for Uncle too - if you should happen to be looking at it in that light," he remarked. "Poor old chap!"

"Naturally we all feel that," said Halliday, shuffling and reshuffling the cards. "It's a terrible tragedy. We're all most upset, and shocked."

Francis's faintly mocking glance lingered for moment on the Bridge-table. "I'm sure you must be," he said. "Quite shattered!"

"Hang it all, you needn't be so pious!" said Geoffrey firing up. "You weren't so damned fond of Father yourself."

Francis raised his brows. "On the contrary," he said." I was probably fonder of him than any of you. You would hardly believe it, but I'm almost distressed to think he's dead."

"Let's hope you won't be more distressed when the Will's read," replied Geoffrey.

"Oh, I hardly think so," said Francis. He struck a match, and lit his cigarette. "Does anybody know who murdered him, by the way?"

"No!" said Halliday, pushing the pack of cards away "It might," said Guest, "have been any one of us."

"You, for instance?"

"Me, for instance."

"But how extremely piquant!" remarked Francis. "Let its all put the name of the person each of us thinks did it into a hat, and see who gets the most votes."

"How can you be so awful?" shuddered Camilla. "How you can joke about it -! When one thinks of poor Sir Arthur, and all these ghastly policemen spying on us, and everything, it's enough to make one go quite mad!"

"You should think of others, Mrs. Halliday. It is very nice for the local police to have something else to do besides having me up for what they call dangerous driving."

"The locals!" ejaculated Geoffrey. "I could put up with them, but when it comes to having a damned nosey inspector down from Scotland Yard, behaving as though the place belonged to him, it's a bit thick!"

Francis regarded the tip of his cigarette. "Dear me!" he said. "So Scotland Yard has been called in has it? How unnerving for you! And where, by the way, is Fay? Prostrate, I suppose. It is too much to hope that Dinah is still here? Perhaps Dinah committed the murder, she is so strong-minded."

"Dinah is in the fortunate position of being perhaps the one person who couldn't possibly have done it," said Guest.

"Oh no, she is not!" said Camilla hotly. "I daresay you'd all of you like to put it on to me or Basil, and you needn't think I haven't eyes, because I have! Your precious Dinah hasn't got any better alibi than I have. And why anyone should want her to be here still is more than I can imagine. Bossing everybody, and trying to monopolise the Inspector, and going on as though she was the person capable of doing anything!"

"From what I know of Dinah, and from what I can see of the rest of you , always excepting Stephen, of course , I should imagine that she is," replied Francis. "Perhaps she will be able to tell me whether I condole with Fay or just tactfully say nothing. It is so awkward, isn't it? I'll go and find her." With which affable speech he walked into the house leaving Camilla to exclaim that thought his manner quite odd, and Geoffrey to break forth into a bitterly expressed opinion of his persona, impudence, and conceit.

Miss Fawcett was not far to seek. As Francis strolled into the hall she was standing at the foot of the staircase conferring with Finch.

"Well, beloved?" said Francis. "I hear you have a perfect alibi. I should have guessed it anyway, from your face of conscious rectitude."

"Hullo, Francis!" said Dinah casually. "But, Fin. I'm what sort of a person?"

"A Hebrew person, miss, to my way of thinking. He states that Miss de Silva asked him to call."

"It sounds to me like a reporter," said Dinah. "Where have you put him?"

"In the morning-room, miss. Shall I take his card to Miss de Silva's room, or would you wish to see him yourself?"

"I don't know. What do you think, Francis? Finch says a man has turned up asking for Lola. Only we're having such a god-forsaken time keeping the press out that I feel a bit suspicious."

"Who is he?" asked Francis, picking the visiting-card up from the tray Finch held. "Mr. Samuel Lewis. Unknown to me, I fear."

"Permit me to introduce myself!" said a rich and cheerful voice. "Samuel Lewis, always at your service!"

They looked quickly round. A stout gentleman in a navy blue suit and a satin tie had come out of the morning-room, and was advancing upon them. He had a somewhat Jewish cast of countenance, several gold sloppings in his teeth, which made his wide smile quite dazzling, a handsome ring on his finger, and a pearl pin in his tie. He held out his hand to Dinah, and clasped hers with reverent fervour. "Lady Billington-Smith, I presume. Allow a stranger to offer you his deepest sympathy, madam! And Mr. Billington-Smith! A sad loss, sir: believe me, I feel for you."

"Thank you so much," said Francis. "But I'm not the man you think me. Nor, to be strictly accurate, is this Lady Billington-Smith. We are, alas, quite insignificant persons."

"I'm happy to meet you, sir," said Mr. Lewis. "This is a terrible business. When I got Lola's letter I said to myself at once: This won't do. Definitely No. That is my view, and I don't fancy I shall change it. So you need have no fear of me at all. You'll set your minds at rest right now. Your interests are mine." He turned, and laid a hand on the outraged Finch's shoulder. "Now, you'll trot straight up to Miss de Silva's room, my man, and you'll say to her that Sam Lewis is right here."

"I think perhaps you'd better, Finch," said Dinah chokingly.

Mr. Lewis regarded her with sympathy. "On your nerves a little? I understand. A loving husband and a fond father done to death under his own roof while at hand the light-hearted guests, all unthinking of the great tragedy being enacted, pursue their innocent amusments. What a story! Double columns, I give you my word, and pictures on the front page. But it must not be. That is my verdict. Now I'll tell you something, and believe me what Sam Lewis doesn't know about the publicity racket you can-put into a match-box and throw into the incinerator." He drew closer to Francis, and tapped him on the chest with one stubby forefinger. "Get a hold on this," he said impressively. "What will make you a top-liner in France, with your name in electric signs six foot high, may land you into the first turn in a third-rate music-hall show in England, with people getting into their seats, and fumbling for sixpence for the programme while you're doing your stuff. Take it from me, sir, that's the solid truth. I know what you're going to say. And I tell you, me, Sam Lewis, that you're wrong. Definitely wrong. Glamour's O.K. I'm not saying it isn't. But the public's a ticklish thing. You want to get your fingers on its pulse. That's where mine is, and that's where I'm keeping it. Right on the Public Pulse. And this is what I'm telling you: what the English Public wants is, Sentiment. It sees La Lola in her Apache Dance with Greg Lamley. It's a riot. But God bless you, do you suppose the Public wants to think of Lola as the Girl in the last Murder Case? No, sir! Wash that right out. You've got the Public wrong. It wants to think of Lola being a Wife and Mother off the stage, just the same ar you or I might be."