The Sleeping Sphinx

him, and tacked on 'middle-aged. He kept repeating it over and over. It was Ronnie who told you so that night And it seemed all right,' stormed Doris, 'because you do think of somebody distinguished looking as being middle- aged.'

'Come to think of it...'

'Y-yes, Don Dismallo?'

'The first time I ever met Ronnie,' said Holden, 'he unnecessarily dragged in a reference to Margot’s lover and kept insisting on the middle-aged part'

How easy, he was thinking, when you have learned the truth! How easy to interpret the moods of young Merrick— whom he had liked, and liked very much—stalking dazed in the Long Gallery, or wandering wild-eyed across the meadows in the moonlight while Doris spoke to him about the murderer!

'She got on his nerves,' Holden could hear Doris's voice saying, 'so he killed her.' And that, in sober God's truth, was the fact

Sir Danvers Locke tugged at his immaculate collar.

'Dr. Fell!' he said. 'Sir?'

'Will you be kind enough to interpret one final point for me?' 'If I can.'

'I take it,' Locke was so white that Holden felt apprehensive, 'I take it that Mrs. Marsh never really, in her heart of hearts, intended to die? And that was why she didn't give up the New Bond Street premises when the suicide pact was arranged?'

'That’ s my belief.'

'But young Merrick never knew that?'

'Never. But he suddenly wondered, when your daughter spoke about it, whether the place might still be there. He had a key, of course. So he traveled up with you in the train next day. But he couldn't go directly to the same address, because you were going to the costumier's shop yourself...' . 'Innocently, I swear!'

'And Thorley caught him,' Doris said miserably. 'I told Thorley next morning about what we'd said. So Thorley went baring up in the car, to see if there might be any evidence. He had a key too, now: That Woman's key. He was still—suppressing things. And there was a fight. Up there in that room, with only the fire burning, there was a fight'

She shivered. The vivid picture was in all their minds.

'You, of course,' Locke glanced at Dr. Fell, 'sent Holden after both of them when you realized. Yes. Yes. That is plain.' He hesitated, a gray-faced shadow. 'Let me,' he added, 'now make my recantation.'

'Recantation?' exclaimed Celia.

'Doris,' her father said formally, 'I did not want you to marry Mr. Marsh. I confess it. I distrusted him. When we heard the first evidence, I believed he was a murderer too. It was only, on thinking things over late that night. . .

'Doris, your father's judgment is not good. I tried to force you into—never mind! I retract. If you now wish to marry this man . . .'

Doris, with absorbed and fierce concentration, was picking at the arm of the chair.

'But I don't think,' she said in a small voice, 'I do want to marry Thorley.'

Locke sat up, shakily. 'You don't wish to? Why not?'

'Oh, I don't know,' Doris said. 'I just don't Celia!'

'Yes, dear?'

'You've always been in love with Don Dismallo, haven't you?'

'I don't like to say so in public,' smiled Celia, and her eyes met Holden's across the back of Doris's head. 'But— always and always

'Well,' said Doris, 'it’s not like that with Thorley and me.' She paused. 'He's not what I thought he was,' she added. 'He's just mean in the soul.'

There was a long silence.

'I won't say, Doris,' observed Locke, with a feeble attempt at a smile, 'your decision displeases me. You are young; and we have the authority of an old saw that there are many fish in the sea. At least you have been delivered from—'

'Don't you say anything against poor Ronnie!' cried Doris.

While they looked at her, dumbfounded, Doris bounced up out of her chair. She walked to one of the windows, and stood looking out at the moonlit garden.

'Ronnie,' Doris said, and there was a ring of reluctant admiration in her voice, 'was a heller. An absolute heller! And I never knew it! I thought he was wishy-washy. I never guessed. Whatever's he's done, that’s how I like a man to be! Oh, I almost wish I had married him, now!'

From the vastness of Dr. Gideon Fell's bulk emerged a murmur which might have been an ironic sigh. He shook his head. Bending over to the little table, Dr. Fell unstoppered the decanter, poured a very strong whisky into a glass, and added a very small amount of water.

The tolerant irony, the far-off twinkle of the eye, all radiated from him as he raised his glass.

“I drink to human nature” he said.

____________________

The Sleeping

Sphinx

Bantam Books · New York

A Bantam Book published by arrangement with Harper & Brothers

Harper edition published February 1947

Detective Book Club edition published April 1946

Published in the Collier set 1947

Condensation appeared in the Toronto star weekly July 1947

Bantam edition published May 1952

2nd printing June 1952

New Bantam edition published November 1958

Copyright, 1947, by John Dickson Carr

All rights in this book are reserved. It may not be used for dramatic, motion- or talking-picture purposes without written authorization from the holder of these rights. Nor may the book or part thereof be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission in writing except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.