had all so far failed. And a sub rosa investigation, for which Ducane had at last received a personal authority, of Radeechy's house and bank account had revealed nothing of interest. At least, there was only one thing that was odd, and that was a negative thing.
Radeechy's library contained a great many books on magic, but there were no traces at all of the 'goings-on' of which McGrath had spoken. Ducane had looked forward with a certain shame-faced curiosity to examining the tools of Radeechy's curious trade; but there was nothing whatever to be seen. Ducane concluded that Radeechy must have destroyed them all before killing himself, which suggested that the suicide was premeditated and not impulsive. This piece of reasoning helped very little, however.
Ducane had put off, and was inclined still to put off, the moment of actually asking Biranne for an explanation, because he was beginning to feel that this was his last card. The report on Biranne from the security people had been, as he had expected it to be, without interest, and his own discreet inquiries and speculations had been fruitless. He could get no 'lead' at all to help him to interpret that surprising connexion; and he did not want to confront Biranne without having found out a good deal more. Biranne was a very clever man and could scarcely be bluffed into thinking that 'all was discovered'. All was very far from being discovered and Biranne would certainly become aware of this. Ducane had no doubt in his own mind that Radeechy's relations with Biranne somehow contained the key to the suicide, but the evidence for this, when he came to reflect upon it, was suggestive, rather than conclusive.
Biranne had lied about his acquaintance with Radeechy, he had been the prompt discoverer of Radeechy's death, and he had in some way moved or fiddled with Radeechy's body. But if Biranne chose to maintain that he had lied out of nervousness and touched the body out of impulsive curiosity, what more could be said? And that his promptness upon the scene was accidental could well be the truth.
Ducane had reopened in his mind the possibility that Biranne had actually murdered Radeechy, and that the left-hand righthand discrepancy between Radeechy's fingerprints and the position of the gun was due to either accident or cunning. But he could not satisfy himself: accident was too unlikely and cunning too devious and unclear. If Biranne had seen Radeechy 'doing things' in the course of his magical operations would he not have known that Radeechy was left-handed? In fact Ducane knew from experience that left-handedness often escapes notice; and in any case there was no proof that Biranne's visits to the house were connected with the magic at all. On the whole Ducane was not convinced by the idea of murder. He felt pretty sure that Radeechy had used the gun and that Biranne had unthinkingly moved it in the course of his search, or whatever it was he had been doing, and had instinctively replaced it beside the right hand. In the end, perhaps very soon, he would have to tax Biranne with this. But the interview, to which he did not in any way look forward, was crucial and must not be bungled. He wanted not only to surprise Biranne but to have enough information to be able in some way to trap him.
At the moment, however, it simply seemed impossible to find out anything more, he ruefully concluded, short of having Peter McGrath put upon the rack.
'There's a gentleman downstairs to see you, Sir. He says his name's McGrath.'
Ducane jumped. Fivey, who preferred not to enter a room if putting his head round the door would do, was leaning over, supported by the door handle, at an angle of forty-five degrees.
Even his moustaches admitted the pull of gravity.
'Where is he? I'll come down.'
'He's in the hall, Sir.'
As Fivey stood aside Ducane apprehended a curious and unfamiliar smell, a sort of piercing sweet-sour odour, which seemed to be emanating from his servant. He hurried past and out of its range. Fivey followed him down the narrow stairs droning Bony Chairlie's noo away half under his breath.
Ducane caught a quick glimpse of McGrath's orange hair and blue eyes. Then they were blotted out by the large form of Fivey who, sidestepping like a dancer, passed in front of Ducane, opened the door of Ducane's small drawing-room with a flourish, and turned the lights on. McGrath, no longer looking at Ducane, was staring at Fivey who was now leaning against the lintel of the door more in the attitude of a spectator than of one about to usher others into a room.
'Go in, please,' said Ducane.
McGrath passed Fivey, staring into his eyes as he did so and pausing inside the room to stare back at him. Fivey returned the stare. Ducane followed McGrath in and inhaled once more the sinister, slightly oily smell. Fivey fell rather than stepped away from the doorway and with a murmur of Weel ye noo come back again faded in the direction of the kitchen.
Ducane closed the door sharply. 'Rather a late hour for a visit, McGrath.'
'Who's he?' said McGrath.
'My servant.'
Mmm. Posh. Looks a bit of a weirdie though. Is there something wrong with him?'
