Murder in the Queen's Armes

'Just a few moments more, sir, if you please. What happened next?'

'I really don't remember too well. Dr. Arbuckle ran in and felt his heart. Then he gave him CPR—” A violent shudder jerked Frawley's shoulders.

Gideon understood his reaction. Leon had been an awful sight. A torn, bloody dent had grooved his forehead and crushed the bridge of his nose, and the very shape of his head was awry. Blood was in abundance, and the poker that had only too clearly done it all lay a few feet away. Julie had fled from the room at once and Gideon had very nearly followed her, but he had made himself remain with the pacific, unperturbed Bagshawe, using his old device of looking without quite looking.

'...and then,” Frawley was saying, “Mr. Hinshore said nobody better touch anything, and he was going to call the police. We all went into the sitting room, and then you came.'

'I see,” Bagshawe said. “I'll just get that down, if you please.'

While he did so, Frawley said, “If I could go now—'

'Very shortly, sir. I believe Professor Oliver has something to ask you, about the Poundbury skull.'

'The Poundbury skull?” Frawley repeated dimly, as if he'd never heard of it.

'And your conversation with Randy,” Gideon said.

Frawley had the teacup near his face. He clapped it shakily down. “Inspector,” he said in a feeble show of spirit, “I really think we could go into this another time.'

'No, sir, I think now would be the right time. We could do it at headquarters if you prefer.'

'No,” Frawley said hurriedly, “we can do it here.” He looked mournfully at Gideon. Et tu, Brute? said the look in his expressive eyes.

The best approach seemed to be to wade in, and Gideon did. “Jack, this morning you said Randy told you that Nate was behind the fraud.'

'That's right, he did. I already told you—'

'Today Leon told me that he'd pulled off the Poundbury hoax—with Randy's help. If that's true, why would Randy tell you that Nate did it?'

'How would I know? Who knows what he was thinking? I told you what he said, and that's the truth.'

'You've told two different stories,” Bagshawe put in. “First you told me that the young man hadn't talked to you at all. And then you said—as Professor Oliver here has pointed out—that he'd accused Professor Marcus—'

'I believe I already explained that. I, ah, may have been in error in withholding information at first, but I meant no harm. I stand firmly on what I said.'

'Which time, Jack?” Gideon asked.

'Inspector, do I have to stand for that? I'll swear to what I've said, if necessary.'

Bagshawe looked searchingly at him. “Professor Frawley,” he said slowly, “I think I must tell you that anything you say may be used—'

Frawley's complexion went from blue-white to dull red. “Is that what's called the usual warning?'

'The Usual Caution, yes, sir.'

'All right, then,” Frawley said with sulky aggressiveness, “at least I know where I stand.'

'I'm not sure you do, Jack,” Gideon said. “The Usual Caution is about the same thing as telling you you're about to be arrested for murder.'

On that rather large liberty, he looked surreptitiously at Bagshawe and saw the massive eyebrows lift, but the policeman said nothing. Gideon went ahead: “You're in a lot of trouble, Jack, believe me. If you haven't told the truth, you'd better do it now.'

Frawley inclined his head. Gideon looked down on bent shoulders and a crown of thinning hair. “Come on, Jack,” he said more gently.

Frawley sat up with his eyes still closed. He spoke in a monotone. “When Randy talked to me that morning, he told me... what you said.'

'That he and Leon had stolen Pummy and put it there for Nate to find?'

Frawley nodded, his eyes still closed. “I guess he had a change of heart, and he wanted me to intercede for him with Nate. I refused; I told him he'd made his own bed and he had to tell Nate himself.'

'But he didn't?'

'I guess not.'

'And you didn't feel you should tell Nate?'

'No.” His eyes popped open and Gideon saw a sullen glimmer in them. “Why should I? Nate made it clear to me enough times my advice wasn't needed. And if he was so obsessed with his theories that he couldn't see through a sophomoric trick like that, he deserved to take the consequences.'

His speech had brought color to his cheeks, and he looked belligerently about him. “I don't see that I've done anything so terrible.'

'That remains to be seen,” Bagshawe said sharply. “Did it never occur to you, while you so judiciously withheld your information, that Mr. Alexander's murder and his part in the hoax might be related?'

'No! I didn't even know there'd been a murder until you told us a couple of days ago. I just thought he'd gotten cold feet and run out.” He shrugged. “It didn't surprise me.'