‘
(‘You see?’ said Laura, smugly.)
‘So he’s coming,’ said Laura. ‘It’s a sobering thought. What a forty-guinea suit and my womanly charm could not accomplish, the promise of rich food and a chauffeur-driven car have pulled off with the greatest of ease. You called him a sponger, I believe. How right you so often are!’
Mr Coles had smartened himself up. He was also on the defensive, particularly with Laura.
‘I realise,’ he said, finding her in the dining-room before his hostess had come down, ‘that there’s method in this madness of inviting me here for the weekend, and you may as well know, first as last, that I’m not committing myself. I know the police think I’m responsible for what happened to Norah, but they’re wrong. And if
‘There, there. Have a cocktail,’ said Laura. ‘I mixed them myself, so I know they’re good. Now I’ll tell you the people you’re going to meet, and we’ll get the worst over first, and that’s my husband, Detective Chief-Inspector Robert Gavin of the C.I.D. However, take heart. He is not here in his official capacity.’
‘If I spill anything to my own disadvantage, he will be,’ said Coles, with a cocky grin. ‘Mud in your eye!’
‘Then there are Dame Beatrice’s nephew, Mr Carey Lestrange, his wife, his son and his daughter, and that’s the lot. Not so bad, eh?’
Coles stared into his glass, then swallowed the rest of his drink. He shook his head, but before he could speak there was the sound of voices outside, his hostess and her relatives came in with Gavin, introductions were made and acknowledged and shortly afterwards dinner was announced and the company sat down, in informal fashion, to dine.
Coles found himself between Carey’s wife and Laura Gavin and, once he had conquered a tendency to give nervous half-glances at Laura’s husband, that disarmingly quiet and handsome officer of the law who happened to be seated opposite him, he told the company various anecdotes and appeared to enjoy the meal.
When it was over, and coffee had been served, Carey drove his wife and children home. The other four, at Dame Beatrice’s suggestion, went into the smaller drawing-room to take chairs round the fire. When they were comfortably settled, Dame Beatrice opened the proceedings with a warning.
‘We are going to ask questions, Mr Coles. Remember that you are under no compulsion whatever to answer them. Detective Chief-Inspector Gavin is here quite unofficially and only so that we may all benefit from his experience.’
‘Yes, quite,’ said Coles. He cleared his throat. ‘You won’t mind my saying that I feel about as happy as a rat in a trap, will you?’
‘Can’t expect you to believe it, but there’s no trap,’ said Gavin. ‘I expect you’ve been badgered quite a bit, though, haven’t you?’
‘My instinct when I spot a police uniform is to run away, screaming. I dream of policemen. Do they really believe I made away with Norah and hid the body in that old coach? Because I didn’t, you know.’
‘Well, they’ve no line to go on at present. I expect you’ll find they’ve been equally embarrassing to her stepfather and her mother. They’ve got to ferret, you know, until they can start something moving. It’s all routine for them. Try thinking of it that way.’
‘It comes hard on innocent parties, all this probing.’
‘I know it does. The only thing is, the innocent parties have nothing whatever to fear.’
‘Never?’
‘Well, hardly ever,’ Gavin was impelled to reply. ‘Look here, listen to the questions, and answer them, but only if it suits you, as Dame Beatrice suggests. All right?’
‘Not by a long chalk. Very well. Carry on. I suppose it may help, in the long run.’
