Death of a Peer

she took her hand and gave her a smile that to Roberta seemed like a brief flash of desperate anxiety. Patch went out.

“It’s rather like French Revolutionary films,” said Frid. “You know, the ones where the little group of aristocrats gets thinner and thinner.”

“For God’s sake, Frid,” said Henry, “hold your tongue.”

“Manners, love,” said Frid in Cockney.

The door opened again and Dr. Kantripp cme in. Roberta wondered if this endless night was to be punctuated by visits from Dr. Kantripp. Each time he came in it was with the same hurried air of concern. Each time, he shook hands with Charlot and with Lord Charles.

“Well,” he said, “she’ll do all right, Lady Charles. She’s better. Had a sleep and less agitated. Still rather upset of course. Inclined to be…” He made an expressive gesture.

“Mad?” asked Frid. “Stark ravers, would you say?”

“My dear girl, not that of course, but rather unsettled and unlike her usual self, no doubt.”

“My poor Dr. Kantripp,” said Charlot, “you don’t know her usual self.”

“She’s pretty grim even when at her jolliest, poor Violet,” said Lord Charles gloomily.

“Has there ever been any trouble?” asked Dr. Kantripp delicately. “Up aloft, you know? Hysteria and so forth?”

“We’ve always considered her a little odd,” said Lord Charles.

“A little, Daddy,” said Frid. “My dears, let’s face it, she’s ga-ga. You know she is, Daddy. What about that nursing-home she used to whizz off to?”

“An occasional crise-de-nerfs,” Lord Charles muttered.

“She’s seen an alienist?”

“Yes, yes, I think so. Not for some time, though. She became a Christian Scientist about five years ago and I daresay my brother hoped that would help. But it didn’t last very long and lately she’s been tremendously taken up with some kind of occultism.”

“Black magic,” said Frid. “She’s a witch.”

“Dear me!” said Dr. Kantripp mildly. “Well,” he added, I’ve suggested that she should see her own doctor.”

“What did she say to that?” asked Charlot.

“She didn’t say anything.” Dr. Kantripp glanced at the constable. “She doesn’t say very much.”

“I know,” agreed Charlot. “She just stares. It’s rather alarming.”

“Do you know if she’s in the habit of taking anything? Ah — aspirin? Anything to make her sleep?”

“I don’t know,” said Charlot sharply. “Why?”

“Oh, I merely thought that if there was anything already prescribed she might as well go on with the same dosage.”

“Tinkerton would know.”

“She doesn’t know of anything.”

“Dr. Kantripp,” Charlot began, “what are you—” She was interrupted with some violence by Stephen.

“What’s that?” he demanded loudly. “Listen!”

There was a distant rumbling. A doorbell rang.

Baskett’s step sounded in the passage and in a moment he came in.

“If Mr. Fox might speak to you, my lord?”

“Yes, Baskett, of course.” Lord Charles hurried out. The door shut, but not before Roberta heard a sort of muffled rattle from the direction of the landing.

“That was the l-lift,” said Stephen. “I thought the police had d-disconnected it.”

“They had,” said Henry.

“I think I know what it is,” said Dr. Kantripp. “Don’t worry, Lady Charles. The police are attending to things, you know, and we have been expecting the — ah — the—”

“They’re taking him away?”

“Yes.”

“I see. Does my sister-in-law know?”

“I asked the nurse to explain. Lady Wutherwood is so very — I didn’t suggest that she should be present. Only distress her. If you’ll excuse me I think I’d better have a word with Alleyn.”

He went out, meeting Patch in the doorway.

“I say,” said Patch, “there are more men going into 26. They’re using the lift.”

“Shut the door,” said Colin.

But even with the door shut they could hear unmistakable and heavy sounds of Uncle G.’s departure. Even the Lampreys had nothing to say and sat in an uncomfortable hush, listening and yet not appearing to listen. With a clank and a heavy mechanical sigh, Uncle G. went down again in the lift.

Henry moved to a window of the drawing-room, pulled aside the curtains and looked down into the street. The others watched him uneasily and in a moment the twins joined him. Unwillingly, Roberta read in their faces the stages of Uncle G.’s progress. Henry opened his window more widely. Down in Pleasaunce Court, doors were shut. An engine started, a motor horn sounded, Henry dropped the curtain and turned back into the room.

“I suppose,” he said, “I shall not be promoted to first suspect if I merely observe, thank God for that.”

“Patch,” said Charlot, “has Mr. Alleyn finished with you?”

“Yes, Mummy.”

“Then go to bed, darling. I’ll come and say good night if I can. But don’t stay awake for me. Run along.”

Patch wandered to the door where she turned. “He hardly asked me anything,” she said. “Only what we were all doing in the dining-room when—”

“Pas pour le jeune homme,” said Frid warningly.

Patch made a rapid grimace at the constable’s chair and opened the door.

“Here, wait a minute,” cried Frid in alarm. But she was too late: Patch had gone.

“Look here,” said Frid to the constable, “can I go after her? I want to ask her something.”

“I’m afraid you can’t, Miss. I can ask the young lady to come back, if it’s any use,” offered the constable, who had risen to his feet.

“I don’t think it is,” said Frid gloomily. “Her French isn’t up to it.” She wandered in a desultory manner round the room.

Lord Charles came in from the hall and went to the fireplace. He leant his arms on the mantelpiece and his head on his arms.

“Well, old man,” said Charlot.

“Well, Immy,” he said without changing his position, “they’ve taken him away. You didn’t know him when he was a young man, did you?”

“No.”

“No. When we were boys we were good friends. It seems a queer thing for him to go away like this.”

“Yes,” said Charlot, “I expect it does.” He went and sat beside her.

“Well,” said Henry, “what happens now?”

“Examination of witnesses continues, I trust,” said Frid. “Who do you say he’ll ask for next? I’m longing for my turn.”

“Frid, my dear,” said her father, “don’t.”

“Don’t what, Daddy?”

“Don’t be so quite so whatever it is you are being. We’re all rather tired. Immy, ought I to ask if I may see Violet?”

“I don’t think so, darling. Dr. Kantripp says she seems to be much quieter and more sensible. No doubt she’ll—”

The drawing-room door opened slowly. The young constable scrambled to his feet, followed, one after another, by the Lampreys. Framed in the doorway, supported on one hand by a uniformed nurse and on the other by her maid, stood the Dowager Lady Wutherwood.

Roberta had been given a good many frights that evening and perhaps her resistance to shock had been weakened. There is no doubt that the appearance of Lady Wutherwood in the drawing-room doorway struck terror