Seeing is Believing

Sharpless had removed his cap, so that rain-drops splashed her and made her run behind H.M. for protectum. Shaking his cap, Sharpless turned a face of incredulous astonishment, hollowed by the lights.

Holding to H.M.'s arm and dragging him with her, Mrs. Propper hurried to a door a little way down the hall. She made him reach inside and switch on the light.

It revealed an empty bedroom, unused and chilly-looking, whose two windows were on the side of the house facing south. One window stood wide open. Drenched curtains of flowered cretonne belled out in the draught when the door was opened.

'That's it,' cried Mrs. Propper, pointing again. 'There's an iron pipe by that winder outside. And Daisy said to me — upstairs we were — up over it — Daisy said to me, 'Auntie, there's somebody tapping on that pipe.' And I said, 'No,' I said, 'there's somebody climbing that pipe.' And we tried to look out of<the winder upstairs, only it wasn't much good, except for hearing somebody raise the winder.'

'Then how do you know it was Captain Sharpless?'

'I tell you, I know! Don't you tell me who it was! I know. It was that Captain Sharpless, there. Wasn't it, Daisy?'

'Oh, Auntie, don't be silly,' said Daisy. Her eyes overflowed. 'I'm sure Captain Sharpless would never do a thing like that.'

'The old girl's scatty,' announced Sharpless.

It was Ann who smoothly intervened here.

'I'll tell you what, Mrs. Propper,' she suggested, putting a kindly arm round the cook's shoulder. 'Why don't you and Daisy go down and make us all some tea? You're perfectly safe now: the big doctor's here. And we could all do with it. I'll put on some clothes and make myself decent and come down and help you.'

'That,' glared H.M., after a look out of the window which misted his spectacles again, 'is the first sensible idea anybody's suggested in this gibberin' household. Come on. Hop it, all of you.'

Though Sharpless lingered behind in the hall, evidently for a look at Vicky after Ann had finished dressing, Mrs. Propper and Daisy were impelled downstairs in front of Courtney and H.M. In the back drawing room the last two found Masters, very grim of face, waiting for them.

'Well, sir?'

H.M. expelled his breath. 'She's all right. No harm done. Our friend did try it on, though.' Masters changed color. 'With the hypodermic?' 'Yes.'

Masters had removed his raincoat and his bowler hat. Belatedly Phil Courtney followed suit, throwing his wet outer apparel on the hearth.

'But do you see how this last little bit fits in?'

'Oh, Masters, my son! Of course it fits in. It's inevitable. And it may have saved us a lot of trouble.'

'Maybe. All the same, I'm bound to admit you were right after all. We don't dare take any more chances. That being the case, don't you think you'd better get on with it and give this demonstration of yours?'

'What demonstration?' asked Courtney wearily.

'Sir Henry's going to show us,' answered Masters grimly, 'how Arthur Fane was murdered.'

There was a pause, filled with the endless splashing of the rain.

'You know?' Courtney asked.

'Oh, yes, son. We know who, and how, and why. Just watch me.'

He could not believe that this was the end. He felt a chill of dread, yet his mind was still befogged and he could not register the remotest guess as to who, or how, or why.

H.M.'s preparations were very businesslike. After putting down the oilskin on the sofa, he again pushed the sofa back against the wall, so that the center of the room was clear. He carried the bridge lamp on its long cord over to the easy chair where Vicky Fane had been sitting on the night of the murder.

Clearing the mahogany telephone table, he brought this to the center of the room.

'We'd better make sure this is exactly as it was,' he grunted. 'Get somebody.'

Ann Browning, who had again put on her white sports dress, was coming down the stairs on her way to the kitchen. Courtney went out and stopped her.

'They want you in there. They're going to show how Arthur Fane was killed.'

'I told you,' retorted Ann through stiff lips, 'that I never wanted to speak to you again as long as..' She paused. 'They're going to do what?'

'Reconstruct the murder, I suppose you'd call it. Look here, Ann, I swear I didn't mean anything!'

'You thought I did it. You know you did.'

'I never did! I only-'

'Come in here, both of you,' roared H.M.

The faces of H.M. and of Masters were so grave that instinctively the others walked softly, almost on tiptoe.

'We want somebody who was here when it happened,' said H.M. 'Now. Shut the door. This is how the furniture was arranged, hey?'

'Y-yes,' said Ann.

'Was the lampshade like it is now? If not, show us.'

After a hesitation, Ann walked forward and lowered the shade an inch or two. It threw bright light round the chair, and almost as far as the little table, but left the rest of the room in semi-darkness.

'Now. The other chairs.'

While Ann gave directions, Courtney rolled an easy chair and a light chair to one side of Vicky's place — a little ahead of it, and facing sideways — to represent the positions of Arthur and Hubert Fane on one side. He rolled another easy chair and another light chair — to represent the positions of Ann Browning and Frank Sharpless — facing these on the opposite side, completing the semi-circle.

'So,' grunted H.M., his fists on his hips. His eye measured distances. You could not tell what he was thinking. 'That's just exactly the position? You're sure?'

'Yes.'

'Good. Masters, put the rubber dagger on the table.'

Masters did so. Courtney saw that the chief inspector was as bewildered as Ann or himself. Masters bent the dagger back and forth, as though to make sure of its being rubber and that it might not be transformed into steel under his eyes.

'We're comin' on. Now, Masters, go and sit in the chair where Arthur Fane was sitting.'

Obediently Masters took the chair.

'You, son. Stand where Rich was standing.'

Feeling as though he had got into a dreamlike state where anything could happen, Courtney shook his head.

'I don't know where Rich was standing. I wasn't here.'

'The gal'll show you. Place him, my wench… So. That's it, hey?.. Good.'

H.M. surveyed the position. He was infuriatingly slow about it.

'We'll omit the revolver,' he went on, thrusting his hands into the armholes of his waistcoat. 'The revolver didn't exactly figure in the scheme: except that, without it, the murderer could never have got away with the trick.' He shook his head. 'Oh, my eye, how simple it is! How painfully, heartbreakin'ly simple!'

Masters' color deepened. His fingers scratched at the upholstery of the chair-arms.

'Sir,' he said, 'are you going to get on with this, or do I have to choke it out of you?'

'Now, now. Keep your shirt on, son.' He looked at the other two. 'This evening I told Masters and Agnew that I was gettin' Adams's chauffeur to knock me together a little article to use in my demonstration. Watch.'

He went over to where his oilskin waterproof lay on the couch. He thrust his hand into the pocket. In two more seconds the secret would have been out.

But there was an interruption.

From somewhere upstairs a strangled cry, more like a scream than a cry, brought the blood rushing to their hearts and made them all whirl round. It was followed by a flapping sound, a series of thuds, and a hoarse voice.

'Got the bounder!'

Masters stared at H.M., the apoplectic color leaving his face. Masters' hand was lifted in the air.