you?'
Roger wiped the chair. 'There you are.'
'Thank you.' Mrs. Lefroy sat down. 'Oh, dear. No, I'm all right, thanks. It will pass off in a minute. Yes, I'm better now. But I think I'll go down. Who's going to tell the others? Oh, dear, I can't think how they managed these skirts. I've knocked the chair over. Well, it doesn't matter. We'd better go down, Osbert. I must see if I can do anything.'
'Excellent,' Roger applauded. 'Yes, that seems perfectly natural. Colin, do you think you could find Williamson and lure him here?' Colin nodded and went off to do so.
'Dear me,' said Mrs. Lefroy, 'I suppose this is all quite unprincipled, isn't it, Mr. Sheringham?'
'Quite,' said Roger cheerfully.
Mr. Williamson looked bewildered. 'What's that? I'm upsetting the police? What do you mean? I haven't upset any police. Eh? Have I?'
'I may be wrong,' said Roger unctuously, 'but I have an idea that you've worried them a little. By wiping that chair for Mrs. Lefroy last night, you know. I think you ought to tell them about it, in any case.'
'Wiping a chair? What? I never wiped any chair for Agatha last night.'
'Osbert!' exclaimed Mrs. Lefroy, much pained.
'Well, when did I wipe a chair for you?'
'Really, Osbert. When I joined you on the roof, after they'd taken Ena down. You must remember.'
'Remember wiping a chair for you? I'm blest if I do. What's it all about, eh? What do you mean?'
'Well, you remember my coming up on the roof, don't you?'
'Did you? Yes, I believe you did. Yes, I remember.'
'And you told me what had happened.'
'Yes. Well?'
'And I came over rather queer.'
'Did you? Did you?'
Mrs. Lefroy turned to Roger. 'Well, it isn't much good if Osbert doesn't even remember what he did,' she said, with proper indignation.
Roger looked serious. 'Don't you really remember, Williamson?'
'I remember Agatha coming up on the roof, yes. At least, vaguely. But I don't remember what I did. I mean . . . Anyhow, what's it matter?'
Roger's gravity deepened. 'I'm afraid it may matter quite a lot. You see, you destroyed some rather important evidence.'
'I did? How the dickens did I do that?' Mr. Williamson looked decidedly alarmed.
Roger set about deepening the alarm. 'Look here, this is rather awkward. You'd had one over the eight last night, you know.'
'Two over the dozen, I should say,' suggested Mrs. Lefroy offensively.
'I wasn't drunk, if that's what you mean,' Mr. Williamson demurred with indignation.
'No,' Roger said with great emphasis. 'You weren't drunk. Whatever happens, the police mustn't get the idea you were drunk. If they once get that notion into their heads, they'll think we were all drunk. Then they'll begin talking about drunken orgies, in the course of which a death occurs, and for all we know the whole lot of us may end up in the dock for manslaughter.'
'The devil we might!' squeaked Mr. Williamson. 'Sheringham, I say, you don't really think that, do you?'
'I certainly do. So the best thing is for you to remember quite clearly what you did last night and then own up to the police like a man. After all it's quite a simple thing, and I don't suppose they'll do more than give you a formal wigging. Perhaps not even that.'
'But look here, what did I do?' asked Mr. Williamson desperately. Roger told him.
'Now do you remember, Osbert?' asked Mrs. Lefroy.
'Well, not altogether,' said Mr. Williamson unhappily. 'Vaguely, you know. Tell me again, Agatha. You asked me if I'd got a handkerchief . . .' Mrs. Lefroy told him again. Then she told him a third time, to make sure. Then Roger told him, all over again. In the end, Mr. Williamson remembered it perfectly, for himself.
Roger paused for a few moments outside the ballroom door and frankly eavesdropped. From inside came the sounds of a gruff voice, followed by Ronald's lighter tones. Evidently an inquisition of some kind was in progress, but it was impossible to make out the words of question and answer.
Roger opened the door and went into the room. After him sidled a sheepish Mr. Williamson. Besides Ronald and his interlocutor there stood, a little apart, Celia Stratton, looking distinctly worried, and Inspector Crane, looking apologetic.
'Ah, here is Mr. Sheringham,' said Ronald, in tones of unmistakable relief. 'He'll bear me out. Roger . . .'
'If you'll excuse me, Mr. Stratton,' interrupted the owner of the gruff voice, a larger person running somewhat to girth, whom Roger instantly and correctly put down as the local superintendent of police, 'if you'll excuse me, I'll ask the gentleman myself. Mr. Roger Sheringham?'
'That's me,' Roger said cheerfully. 'And you, of course, are Superintendent . . .?'
'Jamieson is the name, sir. Pleased to meet you,' said the large man, without, however, very much enthusiasm. 'I was asking Mr. Stratton about the quarrel which preceded Mrs. Stratton's departure from this room. We have already learned from Miss Stratton,' said the superintendent sternly, with a glance at the obviously distressed Celia, 'that such a quarrel took place. I should be glad to have your version of it.'
'Celia exaggerated it,' Ronald said quickly to Roger. 'I've told the superintendent . . .'
'Mr. Stratton!' boomed the superintendent, so ferociously that Inspector Crane looked even more deprecatory than before. 'Yes, Mr. Sheringham?'
'But there was no quarrel,' Roger said blandly.
The superintendent bent his formidable brows. 'Then how do you account for the fact that Miss Stratton admits that there was a quarrel, Mr. Sheringham?'
'I didn't 'admit,'' Celia said with spirit. 'You speak as if I were in the witness box. I told you perfectly willingly that . . .'
'Please, miss!' The superintendent held up a hand like a bread - trencher. 'Mr. Sheringham?'
'I can't quite see what the confusion is about,' Roger said pleasantly. 'What happened was perfectly simple. There was no quarrel, and nothing approaching a quarrel. Mr. Stratton and Mr. David Stratton and Mrs. Stratton were indulging in a little horseplay, when Mrs. Stratton without the slightest warning lost her temper and banged out of the room in a fury. There was no time for a quarrel or anything like that.'
'Umph!' grunted the superintendent, in a disappointed kind of way. Obviously this information exactly coincided with what he had heard from another source, and his disappointment was due to his failure to make more importance of it. 'Then why,' he asked, suddenly rounding on Ronald, 'did you deny that any unpleasantness had taken place at all?'
'Damn it, Superintendent,' Ronald said hotly, 'don't be so beastly offensive. If you want me to answer your questions, kindly put them with ordinary politeness.'
'Shut up, Ronald,' barked Roger, noticing with alarm the growing tinge of puce which was overspreading the superintendent's already inflamed countenance.
'I've a good mind to ring up Major Birkett and ask him to come along,' Ronald grumbled. Roger deduced that Major Birkett might be the chief constable.
'Major Birkett has already been communicated with,' said the superintendent, with something of an ominous ring in his voice.
'Yes, well, that's really all that happened, Superintendent,' Roger said smoothly. 'Mrs. Stratton flew into a raging fury over simply nothing at all and almost threw herself out of the room. You can get confirmation of that from anyone who was in here. And of course, as you've seen, it's a matter of considerable importance.'
'What is a matter of considerable importance, Mr. Sheringham?'
'Why, I mean the state of her mind when she went up on the roof. That's very suggestive, isn't it? But that's not really my province,' added Roger cunningly, remembering his hints on this matter to Dr. Mitchell. 'You must ask one of the doctors whether that would have been likely to influence her immediate actions.'
'Thank you, sir,' returned the superintendent shortly, as one to say that he knew what he must ask the
