'Great Scott, no!' he said in tones of amused outrage. 'On the contrary! That's what I want to emphasize. Shall I give an example?'
'If you please.'
'To Mrs. Thorley Marsh, for instance,' Locke smiled, yet a cold little stir ran through that group as Margot's ghost entered it, 'to Mrs. Marsh I gave the mask of old Mrs. Dyer, the Reading baby farmer of infamous memory. She wouldn't have it. She insisted on being Edith Thompson: because, I suppose, Mrs. Thompson was a remarkably good-looking woman.'
'Oh, ah?' murmured Dr. Fell. He opened his eyes, for a curious look at the other, before closing them again.
'My wife,' continued Locke, 'played Kate Webster, a huge virago of an Irishwoman. As for little Doris ...' Locke waved his hand. 'You understand now?'
'I understand. But how were you sure these people could play their parts, if you made the choices at random?'
'It wasn't exactly at random. Having kept the collection of masks in reserve for a suitable occasion—'
'So!' grunted Dr. Fell.
'—and having a large crime library at Widestairs, I had already made privately certain that all our friends (except poor Celia, who loathes crime) were well read in their parts. There was, of course, a stranger. Mr. Hurst-Gore.'
'Ah, yes,' said Dr. Fell. 'Mr. Derek Hurst-Gore.'
'Fortunately, however, Mr. Hurst-Gore could enter into the spirit of it. He made an admirable Smith, of brides-in-the-bath fame.'
Dr. Fell's eyes were wide open again, in a blank and rather creepy stare which to Doris Locke, who for some reason had stood in awe of this huge apparition ever since his entrance, seemed terrifying. Doris's own eyes were wide and innocent now, like a small girl's. Her hand crept up to find Thorley's as he sat on the arm of the chair.
'Now we come,' said Dr. Fell, 'to Mrs. Marsh's behavior on that night Sir Danvers, how should you describe her behavior?'
Locke hesitated. 'I—er—don't quite follow the question.'
'Her state of mind, sir! Before she went home from the mock murder to the real murder. Eh?'
'In terms of the old-fashioned theater,' answered Locke thoughtfully, 'I should say Mrs. Marsh behaved like a tragedy queen.'
'Aha! But did she look as though, in the words of one witness, she had 'come to a decision about something?''
'Yes! Now you mention it: yes.'
'Do you agree with that Mr. Marsh?'
'Confound it!' complained Thorley. He had reached down to touch Doris's hair, but he drew back as though conscious of an impropriety. 'Margot was always like that! I told Don Holden so last night Overhearty!'
'Overexcited about that man,' muttered Doris.
Dr. Fell's eyes flashed open. 'I beg your pardon?'
'I didn't say anythingl' breathed Doris, jumping violently. 'Really and truly I didn't!'
'Harrumph. Well.' (It was impossible, from that vast pink face with the lopsided eyeglasses, to tell whether Dr. Fell had heard.) 'But can you confirm these versions of Mrs. Marsh's behavior, Miss Locke?'
'I'm afraid,' said Doris, lifting one shoulder, 'I can't help you there. I wasn't interested. I scarcely noticed the woman all evening.'
(Be careful, you little fool! thought Holden. Be careful!) Of course,' added Doris instantly, before Dr. Fell could speak, 'I did 'murder' her in that game. But it was simply because she was the person handiest. You couldn't help spotting that silver gown in the dark.'
Holden intervened just as quickly.
'That's it, Doris!' he said. 'It was a silver dress, wasn't it? You do remember that? Naturally! As a woman would!'
'Ye-esl' Doris seemed relieved. 'Naturally!'
Dr. Fell looked at Thorley. 'Do you agree about the dress, Mr. Marsh?'
'I suppose so,' Thorley said half-humorously. 'I never notice what a woman is wearing. Dr. Fell; and I'D bet a fiver you don't either. You can tell whether it becomes 'em, or whether it doesn't; in either case you can't think why, so you let it go at that But—'
'But?'
'Well! I do seem in a kind of a way to remember that silver thing without shoulders, because it was so conspicuous. Margot—Margot looked worse in that death mask of Mrs. Thompson than she looked after she was dead.'
And a shiver went through his bulky body.
'I see,' said Dr. Fell. 'Now your own party, as I understand it—yourself, Mrs. Marsh, Miss Devereux, and Mr. Hurst-Gore—left Widestairs at about eleven o'clock?'
'Yes!'
'At that time your wife still seemed in excellent health?'
'Yes. Full of beans.'
'Dr. Fell!' interposed Locke very softly.
'Hey? What's that?'
'At risk of being rebuked again,' said Locke, with his finger tips together, 'I am a little disturbed by those words 'still seemed.' Are you implying that this poison, whatever it was, might have been administered in my house?'
'That,' admitted Dr. Fell, 'is a possibility we must consider. And yet'—there was a faint roar under his voice, and he puffed out his cheeks and let his fists fall on the table— 'no, no, no! In that case, the effect of the poison in question must have come on at a far earlier time.' 'Ah!' said Locke serenely.
'But it suggests another point Did Mrs. Marsh by any chance come over to your house that same afternoon? Before the Murder game?'
A faintly startled expression came into Locke's eyes; then it was gone.
'Yes! As a matter of fact, she did.'
'Oh, ah? For what purpose?'
'Presumably,' smiled Locke, 'to say hello. They'd just driven down from London, you know. Ah, no! One moment I remember now. She said she wanted to see her husband.' He seemed puzzled; troubled. 'Yes. Her husband.'
'Did she see him?'
'No. Our friend Marsh was out at the trout stream with Doris, where I believe he performed prodigies by walking across a log with his eyes shut.' Locke's beautifully modulated voice gave an (somewhat ironic?) account of the incident 'Mrs. Marsh, I remember, asked my wife and myself to send him home soon; she said she wished to speak to him urgently.'
For a long moment Dr. Fell stared at Locke. Then his shaggy head swung round.
'And this (harrum!) this urgent message. What was it, Mr. Marsh?'
'It wasn't anything!' protested Thorley. 'I keep telling you, over and over, Margot was like that! She—'
'Sir,' interrupted Dr. Fell, 'was it to ask you for a divorce?'
Long pause.
(Divorce? Holden was thinking. Divorce? Margot? Nonsense! But wait! If this suggestion of Margot Devereux having a lover were true—as Doris insisted and even Celia had suspected—that altered everything. Margot might have put up with any kind of unhappy home life rather than the alternative of divorce. But if she happened to fall violently in love, and wanted to marry: yes, that altered everything.)
'I regret the necessity for repeating the question,' said Dr. Fell, who was genuinely distressed. 'But was it to ask you for a divorce?'
'No,' replied Thorley, with his eye on a corner of the window embrasure.
'In that case, sir, I must go into matters that will be painful and embarrassing. You are aware,' Dr. Fell
