Give us a view of your back, Jago, and then tell Sergeant Cribb about your feelings towards Isabel!”
“What’s this?” snapped Cribb, robbed of the initiative.
Jago stood compliantly and slipped off the dressing gown he was wearing. His body was hideously blotched with bruises, but the mark that riveted Cribb’s attention was the scratch in four narrow lines the length of the back.
Thackeray paled.
“How did you come by this, Constable?”
“It was not done last night, Sergeant,” answered Jago.
“Did she do it?”
“Yes.”
“In what circumstances?”
Silence.
“Ain’t it perfectly obvious to all of us?” said Vibart. “It won’t be the first time a bobby’s put himself on the wrong side of the bloody law. It was a neat deception sending him to Radstock Hall, Cribb, but you should have chosen someone less susceptible to a woman’s charms. Poor bloody Jago.
You might get him off with manslaughter if you handle it carefully, Sergeant. We’re all discreet men.”
“If Jago is accused,” said Cribb with deliberation, “the charge is murder. I was at Radstock Hall myself this morning. I found this”-he produced the wad of banknotes from his pocket-“in Jago’s room under his pillow.”
D’Estin gasped audibly.
“As I said all along-” began Vibart unctuously.
“Permit me to finish. If I’d ever harboured doubts about Jago-and I don’t say I had-the finding of this dissolved ’em. If a trained constable decides to place himself on the wrong side of the law, to use your expression, do you really suppose he hides the main evidence under his own pillow?
And after the crime is discovered, does he still go through with a fist fight and get battered black and blue for no reason at all? No, Mr. Vibart, Jago or anyone else cuts away with the money as soon as those dogs are shot and the way out is clear. It’s plain enough to me someone put the five hundred in Jago’s room as a safeguard.”
“What do you mean?” asked D’Estin.
“Sharp thinking on the part of the murderer. He expected the Ebony to take the blame-you all agreed he was the man.
You had your own plans to even the score, I should guess. But suppose something went awry. Putting the worst possible construction on events, suppose someone else got to know about the murder-a servant perhaps-and brought the police to Radstock Hall while you were at the fight. Wasn’t it a smart precaution to have a suspect in reserve? Uncommon smart, I say. If nothing happened, our murderer could have gone back to Rainham after the fight, picked up the money and none of us would have been any wiser. Confidentially, though, the money wasn’t the only evidence I was looking for. There was the knife, you follow, and there had to be bloodstained clothing. To put you fully in the picture, gentlemen, I found ’em in the cavity under the window seat-dagger, coat, a case of documents and a saw as well-now, why would anyone want to hide a common saw? So you see, I can’t possibly oblige you by arresting either Morgan or Jago. Your theory rested on Morgan carrying the things away with him. And as for Jago, well, he’d have hidden the five hundred with the other things, wouldn’t he?” Cribb sighed with a forced air of reluctance. “Which means there’s only two suspects left for me.
You, Mr. D’Estin, representing unrequited passion, if I may be so bold, and you, Mr. Vibart, on the side of personal gain- inheritance, in fact. There’s good arguments in favour of either of you, until we look closely at the crime itself. Remind us of the injuries to Mrs. Vibart, will you, Thackeray?”
“Five stab wounds in the chest, left side,” recited Thackeray. “Distinct bruising on the left shoulder and the left side of the neck towards the front.”
“Thank you. It’s obvious enough, ain’t it, gentlemen, that the murderer held Mrs. Vibart down with his hand on her neck while he stabbed her with the knife in his other hand?
We don’t need demonstrations, do we? Now I’ve always admired the way the handicapped overcome their injuries, and you’ll all agree that Mr. D’Estin here is a notable example. He can put that one finger and thumb of his to a thousand uses, I dare say. But one thing I don’t think he could manage is to hold a dagger firm enough to stab a fellow being five times.” Cribb’s eyes darted from face to face like a schoolmaster’s checking for a flash of comprehension.
“Now before you tell me he could have held the knife in his left hand, just think about it. The right hand-his injured one-is at her throat, the left hand stabbing her. In practical terms, it can’t be done, gentlemen. Mr. D’Estin ain’t my man. What do you say, Mr. Vibart?”
He had no chance to say anything. D’Estin sprang from his chair, upending it behind him, and plunged his hand into his jacket pocket. “You killed her! I’ll settle with you, you bloody murderer!”
“You won’t, sir,” said Cribb. “Not without this.” He was holding the revolver D’Estin had expected to produce.
“Took it off you in the struggle when we arrested you, sir.
Just as well, too. Now sit down, will you, while we settle this in a civilized way?”
“Civilized?” repeated D’Estin, as though the word were totally foreign.
“Will you sit down, sir?”
There was a moment’s hesitation. Then D’Estin obeyed.
“Now, Mr. Vibart. I suggest that you are the only man who could have killed your late sister-in-law.”
D’Estin’s display of violence had shaken Vibart, but he was not ready to capitulate. “You can suggest what you bloody well like, Sergeant. It’s proof you’ll need in a court of law.”
“There’s cast-iron circumstantial evidence,” said Cribb.
“Motive. Opportunity. Once I’d eliminated the others, it had to be you. Your dealings with Beckett showed you had no loyalty towards Mrs. Vibart. But you deliberately arranged things so that suspicion fell on Morgan.”
Vibart shrugged. “That’s not evidence enough to hang a man.”
“There’s the contents of the valise,” Cribb pointed out. “I haven’t examined the papers in detail, but there’s a case to answer for the deaths of Quinton and several others-”
D’Estin intervened. “No, Sergeant. He’s right. A smart lawyer could raise enough doubts to confuse a jury. Without stronger evidence you’ll have to release him.” He turned to look at Vibart. “We’ll settle things ourselves-we agreed on that, didn’t we, Edmund?”
The false air of familiarity carried more menace than the open threat of a moment before. Jago had a sudden recollection of D’Estin’s sinister reference to the man once responsible for the accident to his hand.
Vibart paled. “You don’t believe this nonsense, D’Estin?
We’ve always been friends. Things weren’t easy. I can make everything up to you-”
D’Estin smiled grimly. “Indeed you will. Payment in full, I think.” He turned to Cribb. “Well, we mustn’t detain you, Sergeant. You’ll want to question Morgan about the prize fight. Good thing you can bring a charge for that, anyway.”
Saying nothing, Cribb got to his feet.
In desperation, Vibart looked from face to face for a spark of compassion. Cribb’s face was impassive, Thackeray’s vacant, Jago’s hidden by bandages. He panicked.
“Don’t leave me, Sergeant. Not with him-”
“I’m rather short of evidence, sir.”
“God in heaven, man! He means to kill me!”
“Do you reckon so, sir? We’ll certainly arrest him if he does,” Cribb assured him breezily. “Got your hat, Thackeray?”
“No! Wait, Sergeant!” Vibart appealed. “I can’t face him.
I’ll say whatever you want.”
Cribb turned. “Full statement, sir? Freely given, of course? We’ll start with the first prize fighter who came to Radstock Hall, then. .”
Cribb sat in his best suit at his usual place in the Ratcatcher, a tankard of Bass East India in front of him. It had been an illuminating day. “Report to Inspector Jowett, Great Scotland Yard, 11:30 A.M.,” the message left on his desk had said. There wasn’t much doubt in his mind about the outcome of this interview. He felt sorry there was
