“Sodium nitrite again, sir?”
“I only say it could be. And Pernod would disguise the salt, and lemon tickle up its peculiar qualities. Well, I’m off. You can take him away, and the sooner the better. As I think I know what to look for, I may be home by midnight.”
The doctor paused on his way out to exchange sarcastic greetings with the Director, whose protuberant stare and reeking cheroot had appeared in the doorway of the sitting- room. Inspector Willows had now been joined by the divisional superintendent from the spare room; and, as the doctor departed, several persons could be heard coming up the front steps, for the door was still open. And the first to appear, at a hurried trot, was Inspector Vance.
Shadows were filling the narrow hall, and Inspector Willows, at this moment, turned on the light. A powerful bulb blazed out above Mr. Tuke’s head; and as the newcomer saw who was there, for once his wooden reserve failed him. His expression became one of acute exasperation. Then his eye fell on Sir Bruton, and Mr. Vance’s whole air, casting restraint and subordination to the winds, was that of a much persecuted camel who feels that the last straw has been laid upon it. In his irritation he opened his mouth to speak, but snapped his lips tight just in time. While he stood obviously if inwardly raging, a fresh arrival broke the tension.
A short, plump middle-aged woman in a grey coat and skirt which somehow suggested a uniform came through the door. A gold cross hung from her neck. Her round face, scarcely lined, was as pink as a child’s, and her hair, drawn back beneath an unbecoming hat, was almost white. It was easy to believe that in other circumstances she could look a model of benevolence—a diligent church worker, even a deaconess, perhaps. But she did not look benevolent now. Her small mouth was pinched and angry, and her pale eyes, flitting suspiciously from one to another of the strangers in the hall, were as hard and unfeeling as marbles. A plainclothes policeman who came in behind her touched her arm, keeping her in the doorway, as Inspector Willows advanced to greet his colleague.
“Glad you’re back,” he said. “I didn’t expect you so soon. We’ve been trying to contact you in Cambridge.”
“I left a couple of hours ago,” Mr. Vance explained. He had himself in hand again, but he ignored Sir Bruton and Mr. Tuke. “When I got there, I found that Eady’d slipped back to town last night. His pals in Cambridge gave him away fast enough when they heard it was a murder case. I went straight to his house, and met Sergeant McPhee there, just bringing Mrs. Eady along.”
Inspector Willows looked curiously at the woman in grey. “I’ve sent for Adney, too. He knows Eady.”
“And he’s been done in now?”
“Looks like it’s him. It’s your Cambridge friend, anyway, from his clothes. Nothing on him to identify him. Sodium nitrite again, the doctor thinks. Same symptoms.”
“Well, we’d better settle it,” Inspector Vance said.
He turned to beckon to the woman. Sir Bruton, pulling violently at his cheroot, put in a word.
“Inspector Vance, eh?”
Mr. Vance turned stiffly. “Yes, sir.”
“Know who I am, eh? Justifiably annoyed. Horrible old man butting in. where he isn’t wanted. Not my fault, Inspector. Innocent as a babe. So’s Mr. Tuke. We came here to a party.”
“Yes, sir,” repeated the inspector tonelessly. But his eyes did not look placated. Their glance went past the Director to the half open door of the sitting-room, where he could see Vivien Ardmore and Charles Gartside sitting together on the divan, the young woman’s strained white face and her betrothed’s horn-rims and supercilious features turned anxiously to the doorway.
Mr. Vance looked at Inspector Willows. “Where is he?” The other nodded towards the spare room, and the two officers began to walk up the hall. Mrs. Joseph Eady and her escort followed. Her beady eyes flickered warily from Sir Bruton to Mr. Tuke as she brushed past them in the narrow space. Her plump face was less pink, and her tongue wetted her lips. At the spare room door Inspector Vance spoke to her in a low voice, and then the whole party disappeared inside.
Sir Bruton uttered a gobbling chuckle. “We aren’t popular, lovey.”
“Inspector Vance is a stiff-necked ass,” said Mr. Tuke.
Sir Bruton chuckled again. And then, from the spare room, came a sudden outcry. A voice rose hysterically.
“I tell you I know who did it! He told me. He was coming to meet her. She was a devil, he said, and he wasn’t taking any risks. But she got him. Let me get my hands on the——”
Mrs. Eady’s language became such as no deaconess would use. Other voices were heard trying to calm her.
“I haven’t got it wrong, you bloody fool!” the woman screamed. “Didn’t he give me her name, in case? . . . I wrote it down. I’ve got it l\ere. Didn’t he see her ?”
Mrs. Eady reappeared, impelled by Sergeant McPhee towards the kitchen, where he was adjuring her to rest and simmer down. Breathing fast, her mouth an ugly line in her now pallid face, her beady eyes glittering, she looked more venomous than grief-stricken. The two inspectors, following after, came down the hall. Mr. Vance wore a puzzled frown. He seemed to have forgotten the presence of Sir Bruton and Mr. Tuke.
“She’s muddled it somehow,” he was saying. “Whatever Eady wanted with Mrs. Mortimer Shearsby, she couldn’t have done the Stocking murder. It couldn’t have been her he saw there. I’ve been into all that——”
He stopped as he met Mr. Tuke’s sardonic gaze.
“The deceased is Eady, then, Inspector?” Harvey inquired.
Mr. Vance nodded grudgingly. “Yes, sir.”
“And his wife has been flinging accusations about?”
The inspector stared
