Gradually the minutes tick-tocked away and the Blenheim Towers warily settled down for what was left of the night. Under his eiderdown Dover bubbled and snorted as his digestive juices set about tackling the gastronomic problems his all-embracing greed had set them. From time to time the building itself creaked and groaned and sighed as old buildings will. The sounds were eerie and a nervous person might even have imagined that there was somebody creeping about in the inky darkness.
Half past one struck faintly from the grandfather clock down in the hall. MacGregor muttered ‘Gwendoline!’ in his sleep, turned over restlessly and settled down again without waking up. It was a dreadful scream, cutting achingly through the silence like a knife through metal, that got him halfway out of his bed before his eyes opened.
The heavy thud which followed the scream passed almost unrecorded as MacGregor flung himself at his bedroom door. Out on the landing his hand shot automatically to the electric light switch. The staircase flooded into visibility. For a second everything was blurred and he blinked rapidly as he tried to get the still, shapeless mound at the bottom of the flight of stairs into focus.
He’d had more than enough experience to recognize that it was a body, and a dead body at that. He couldn’t see the head but the feet trailed limply up the two bottom stairs. He began to hurry down, unable to stifle an unworthy thrill of pure joy. The old fool had got his come-uppance at last! And no one had more richly deserved it! As MacGregor reached the foot of the stairs he became aware that doors were being opened all over the hotel. He caught the confused babbling of anxious voices and quickly wiped the happy smile off his face. The decencies had to be observed.
The body lay ominously motionless. A broken neck, thought MacGregor cheerfully.
‘What’s happened?’ Wing Commander Pile’s authoritative voice cut querulously through the babble. His bare feet slapped to a brisk one one-two halt as he caught sight of the body. ‘Good God, it’s Mrs Boyle!’
‘Mrs Boyle?’ MacGregor’s euphoria fought a valiant rearguard action. ‘It can’t be!’
Wing Commander Pile mastered his own evident astonishment and glanced sharply at MacGregor. ‘Pull yourself together, man!’ he barked. ‘You’ve gone as white as a sheet. Of course it’s Mrs Boyle. If it isn’t, somebody else is wearing her housecoat and her slippers.’
MacGregor sank to his knees beside the body. ‘Keep everybody else well back, will you, sir?’ he requested in a voice broken with disappointment. Gently he pulled a fold of the flowered housecoat back from the head and his last wild hopes vanished. It was Mrs Boyle all right. He heaved a deep sigh and felt for the heart. One look at the face had been more than enough to confirm his earlier impression but he felt that he had to go through the motions. He was just raising the eyelids when, now neatly arrayed in red leather slippers and a dark blue dressing-gown, Wing Commander Pile returned.
‘I’ve sent the ladies back to their rooms,’ he announced in clipped, controlled tones. ‘Old Mr Revel is still fast asleep in his bed and I don’t see any point in wakening him. Mr Lickes is awaiting my instructions at the top of the stairs. He wants to know if he should telephone for the police and a doctor. He’s not quite sure of his responsibilities with you being present.’
MacGregor got slowly to his feet. ‘Yes, we shall want the police and a doctor.’
The wing commander marched away and relayed the instructions. He came back to find MacGregor gazing thoughtfully up the stairs. ‘She is dead, is she?’ he asked.
MacGregor nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. From the way she’s lying it looks as though she must have fallen down the stairs.’
‘Fallen down the stairs?’ Wing Commander Pile followed the direction of MacGregor’s eyes. ‘But, what would she be doing up there in the middle of the night?’
‘I’ve no idea sir,’ said MacGregor, trying to shake off the uncanny feeling of indifference and lassitude that had crept over him.
‘I suppose we mustn’t move her?’
‘Good heavens, no!’ MacGregor was jerked back to his professional responsibilities. ‘The local police will see to all that. And now, sir, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d be grateful if you would go to your room and stay there until you’re required.’
Wing Commander Pile didn’t look best pleased at this request but, after a moment’s hesitation, he shrugged his shoulders and withdrew. He went into his daughter’s room and, no sooner had the door shut, than MacGregor heard Mr Lickes hurtling up the stairs from the hall. Mindful of possible clues, MacGregor stepped delicately over the body and met the new arrival halfway along the landing.
The police were on their way.
‘What else do you want me to do?’ asked Mr Lickes, excitedly bouncing about from one side to the other as he tried to get a glimpse of the corpse beyond MacGregor’s shielding body.
‘Just go back to the hall, sir, and man the telephone, if you will. And when the police come, if you could send them up here straight away.’
‘All right.’
‘And I’d be obliged, sir, if you would try not to touch or disturb anything as far as you can.’
Mr Lickes stopped bouncing. ‘Golly!’ he said in an awed voice. ‘Here, you don’t think this is another murder, do you?’
MacGregor produced the stock, non-committal answer to that question and sped Mr Lickes on his way. Then, quietly and quickly, he checked the first-floor rooms. Everybody was accounted for. Miss Dewar and Miss Kettering clung together like enamoured chimpanzees and informed MacGregor that nothing would tempt them to venture out until the sun stood high in the heavens. Mr Revel was still placidly asleep and Wing
