Lady Sangore's face looked flabby. The powder cracked on her cheeks as her mouth worked. She stammered: 'You —you—I never knew——'
'No doubt, like the others, you attributed those deaths to divine intervention,' said Luker sarcastically. 'I'm sorry to disillusion you. I gave orders for Windlay to be killed. I strangled Kennet myself and started the fire under his room. Your husband and Fairweather knew I was going to do it; you yourself guessed. Therefore at this moment you are all of you already accessories to the crime of murder unless you at once communicate your knowledge to the police. Of course if you do that you may find it hard to explain your silence at the inquest, but the telephone is here on my desk if any of you would care to use it.'
Nobody moved. None of them spoke. A paralysis of futility seemed to have taken hold of them, and Luker seemed to gloat over their strangulation. He gave them plenty of time to absorb the consciousness of their own moral impotence while his own rocklike impassivity seemed to deepen with his contempt.
'In that case, I take it that you wish me to continue,' he proceeded at length. 'My instructions were carried out in part. Templar and Lady Valerie have been captured. Their car was wrecked, and they were both stunned in the crash but otherwise not much harmed.'
'Where are they now?' asked Fairweather limply. 'Are they in London?'
Luker shook his head.
'No. My men rang up from Amesbury, asking for further orders. You see, while they recovered all Kennet's documents, the most important thing of all—the negative of a certain photograph—was not to be found, either in the car or on either of the captives. I therefore thought it advisable to question both of them about what had happened to it. You will understand that this may present some difficulties, since they may require—persuading. Meanwhile, they had to be kept in some safe place. Luckily I remembered that Bledford Manor was not far from Andover, which is not far from Amesbury. Knowing that the Manor was closed and the servants on holiday, I told my men to take them there.'
Lady Sangore started to her feet as though she had been jabbed in the behind with a long needle.
'What?' she protested shrilly. 'You sent them to my house? How dare you! How
The general fought against suffocation. He made noises like an ancient car trying to start on a cold morning. His face was the colour of old bricks.
'Tchah!' he backfired. 'Harrumph! By Gad, Luker, that's going a bit too far. It's monstrous. Tchah! I forbid it. I forbid it absolutely!'
'You can't forbid it,' Luker said coolly. 'It's done.'
Fairweather pawed the air.
'This is nothing to do with us,' he whined reproachfully. 'You're the only one in that photograph. Really, Luker, I——'
'I quite understand,' Luker said, with imperturbably measured venom. 'This was an attractive business proposition for you so long as somebody else took all the risk, but' now that it isn't going so smoothly you'd like to wash your hands of it, the same as Sangore—of course from the highest motives and with the greatest regard for the honour of the regiment and the old school. I'm sorry that I can't make it so easy for you. In the past I have helped you to make your fortunes in return for nothing much more than the use of your honest British stupidity, which is so comforting to the public. Doubtless you thought that you were earning the just rewards of your own brilliance, but I assure you that I could have taken my pick from hundreds of distinguished imbeciles of your class. Now for the first time, in a small way, I really need your assistance. You should feel flattered. But in any event I intend to have it. And I can assure you that even if this particular photograph only refers to me, if I should be caught the subsequent investigation would certainly implicate yourselves.'
He made the statement in a way that left them no doubt of how they might be implicated if the worst came to the worst. But they were too battered to fight back. His words moved like barbs among the balloons of their self-esteem. They stared at him, curiously
