round the table, stood over her. Unlike most tall men Alleyn had the trick of swift movement. Tinkerton stiffened uneasily on the edge of her chair.
“You know, of course, that Lord Wutherwood was murdered?”
She actually turned rather pale.
“You know that?” Alleyn repeated.
“Everybody is saying so, sir.”
“Who is everybody? You have been with Lady Wutherwood ever since it happened. Does she say her husband was murdered?”
“The nurse said so.”
“Did the nurse tell you how he died?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What did she tell you? Describe it, exactly, if you please.”
Tinkerton moistened her lips. “The nurse said he was injured with a knife.”
“What sort of knife?”
“I mean a skewer.”
“How was it done?”
“The nurse said he had been stabbed through his eye.”
“Who did it?”
Tincerton gaped at him.
“You heard me, I think,” said Alleyn. “Who murdered Lord Wutherwood?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about it.”
“You know he must have been killed by some one in this flat”
“The nurse said so.”
“It was so. Very well, then. You understand that if you can prove it was impossible for you to have stabbed Lord Wutherwood through his eye into his brain, you had better do so.”
“But I said — I said I was downstairs when he was still calling her ladyship. I said so.”
“How am I to know that is true?”
“Mr. Giggle will have heard. He knew I was behind him. Ask Mr. Giggle.”
“I have asked him. He doesn’t remember hearing Lord Wutherwood call a second time.”
“But he did call a second time, sir. I tell you I heard him, sir. Mr. Giggle must have been too far down to have heard. I was behind Mr. Giggle.”
“And you say you met nobody and saw nobody as you passed along the passage, through the hall, and across the landing?”
“Only Mr. Giggle, sir, and he didn’t notice me. I just caught sight of his back as he went down and Master Michael’s back as he went into the other flat. Before God, sir, it’s true.”
“You are voluble enough,” said Alleyn, “when it comes to your own safety.”
“It’s true,” Tinkerton repeated shrilly. “I’ve said nothing that wasn’t true.”
“You’ve been with Lady Wutherwood fifteen years yet you don’t know the name of the nursing-home she went to or why she went. You don’t know whether she is interested in the supernatural or whether she isn’t. You say she never takes any medicine or drug. Do you still insist that all three statements are truthful?”
“I won’t talk about my lady. My lady hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s frightened and ill and shocked. It’s not my place to answer questions about her.”
Her hands worked drily together against the fabric of her skirt. Alleyn watched her for a moment and then turned aside.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll leave it at that. Before you go I want you to mark on this plan your exact position when Master Michael went into the other flat and when you saw Lord Wutherwood sitting in the lift.”
“I don’t know that I remember exactly.”
“Try.”
He put his sketch plan on the table with a pencil.
Tinkerton took the pencil in her left hand and, after consideration, made two faint dots on the plan.
“Your statement will be written out in longhand,” said Alleyn, “and you will be asked to sign it. That’s all for the moment. Thank you. Good night.”
“You were remarkably crisp with the woman,” said Curtis. “I’ve never heard you less amiable. What was wrong?”
“She’s a liar,” said Alleyn.
“Because she wouldn’t talk about her mistress? Wasn’t that rather commendable?”
“Not because of that. She told a string of lies. Have a look at the statement later on and you’ll spot them.”
“You flatter me, I’m afraid. Why was she lying, do you suppose?”
“Not because she murdered Master,” grunted Alleyn. “It’s a right-handed job if ever there was one.”
“She may be ambidextrous.”
“I don’t think so. She opened and closed the door, marked the plan, and took out her handkerchief with the left hand. She used the left hand every time she ministered to Lady Wutherwood. She’s not our pigeon, unless she’s an accessory to the blasted fact. What do you think, Fox?”
“I should say she’s got a snug job with her ladyship,” said Fox, glancing up from his notes and over the top of his glasses.
“Well, I must be off,” said Curtis. “See about this P.M. Fox rang up the coroner. I’ll start first thing in the morning. Cairnstock has an operation to-morrow and said he’d come and have a look later on. Don’t expect we’ll find anything of interest to you. I’ll ring you up about mid-day. Good night.”
He went out. Fox closed his note-book and removed his spectacles. Somewhere in the flat a clock struck eleven.
“Well, Br’er Fox,” said Alleyn. “So it goes on. We’d better see another Lamprey. What’s your fancy? Suppose we follow Master Henry’s suggestion and talk to his mother.”
“Very good,” said Fox.
“We’d better let Lady Katherine go home. We can’t keep them all boxed up in here indefinitely, I suppose.” He looked at the constable. “My compliments to Lady Charles Lamprey, Gibson, and I’d be grateful if she could spare me a few minutes. And say that we shall not trouble Lady Katherine Lobe any further tonight. You won’t call them Lady Lamprey and Lady Lobe, will you? And warn the man on duty in the entrance that Lady Katherine is to be allowed out. She lives at Hammersmith, Fox. We’ll have to keep an eye on her, I suppose.”
“She’s not exactly the cut of a murderess, is she?” Fox remarked.
“You wouldn’t say so. You wouldn’t say she was the cut of a fairy, either, but apparently she vanishes.”
“How d’you make that out, Mr. Alleyn?”
“According to herself, she met Michael on the landing just as he was going into the other flat. Tinkerton saw Michael but didn’t see Lady Katherine.”
“Perhaps the young gentleman made two trips, Mr. Alleyn.”
“The young gentleman is our prize witness up to date, Fox. He tells the truth. As far as one can judge the family talent for embroidery has given him a miss. He’s a good boy, is young Michael. No. Either Tinkerton added another lie to her bag or else—”
Gibson, the constable, opened the door and stood aside. Lady Charles Lamprey came in.
“Here I am, Mr. Alleyn,” she said, “but I hope you don’t expect any intelligent answers because I promise you that you won’t get them from me. If you told me that Aunt Kit was steeped in Gabriel’s blood I should only say: ‘Fancy. So it’s Aunt Kit after all. How too naughty of her.’ ”
He pulled out the arm-chair at the foot of the table and she sank down on it, taking the weight of her body on her wrists as elderly people do.
“Of course you must be deadly tired,” Alleyn said. “Do you know, that is the one thing that seems to happen to all people alike when a case of this sort crops up? Every one feels mentally and physically exhausted. It’s a sort of carryover from shock, I suppose.”
“It’s very unpleasant whatever it is. Would you be an angel and see if there are cigarettes on the
