“With some of them. You see, what happened was this. When we went in, Mrs. Berlyn said that she had been disappointed in that three London friends, who were staying at Torquay and whom she expected, had just telegraphed to say they couldn’t come. That made our numbers wrong. She had intended to have three tables of bridge, but now, as some of us played billiards, she suggested one bridge table and snooker for the other five. She and I and—let me see—Fogden and a Miss Pym, I think, and one other—I’m blessed if I can remember who the other was—played snooker. So I wasn’t with the other four between the time that we settled down to play and supper.”
“What hour was supper?”
“About , I think. We broke up when it was over—rather early, as a matter of fact. We reached home shortly after .”
“And you played snooker all the evening until supper?”
“No. After an hour or more we dropped it and played four-handed billiards.”
“Then some player must have stood out?”
“Yes. Mrs. Berlyn said she must go and see how the others were getting along. She watched us play for some time, then went to the drawing room. She came back after a few minutes to say that supper was ready.”
“Now, Dr. Lancaster, just one other question. Can you tell me at what time Mrs. Berlyn went into the drawing room?”
“I really don’t think I can. I wasn’t paying special attention to her movements. I should say perhaps half an hour before supper, but I couldn’t be sure.”
“That’s all right,” said French. “Now if I could see Mrs. Lancaster for a moment I should be done.”
Mrs. Lancaster was a dark, vivacious little woman who seemed to remember the evening in question much more clearly than did her husband.
“Yes,” she said, “I was playing bridge with Miss Lucy Pym, Mr. Cowls, and Mr. Leacock. I remember Mrs. Berlyn coming in about . She laughed and said: ‘Oh, my children, don’t be frightened. I couldn’t think of disturbing such a serious game. I’ll go back to our snooker.’ She went away, and presently came back and called us to the library to supper.”
“How long was she away, Mrs. Lancaster?”
“About twenty minutes, I should think.”
This seemed to French to be all that he wanted. However, he thought it wise to get the key of the Berlyns’ house and have a look at the layout. The drawing room was in front, with the library behind it, but between the two there was a passage with a side door leading into the garden. He felt satisfied as to the use to which that passage had been put on the night in question. He could picture Mrs. Berlyn fixing up the uneven number of guests, among whom would be some who played billiards and some who did not. The proposals for snooker and bridge would almost automatically follow, involving the division of the party in two rooms. Mrs. Berlyn as hostess would reasonably be the odd man out when the change was made from snooker to billiards. The result of these arrangements would be that when she slipped out to the works through the side door, each party would naturally assume she was with the other, while if any question as to this arose, her reentry at suppertime would suggest to both that she had gone out to overlook its preparation.
These discoveries justified French’s theory, but they did not prove it, and he racked his brains for some test which would definitely establish the point.
At last an idea occurred to him which he thought might at least help.
In considering Mrs. Berlyn as her husband’s accomplice he had been doubtful whether there would have been sufficient time for the various actions. If after Berlyn’s arrival at the works with the body Mrs. Berlyn had driven the car back to where it was found, changed the magneto, and made the footprints, he did not believe she could have walked home in time to wake the servants at the hour stated. Nor did he believe that Berlyn, after disposing of the body in the works, could have been able on foot to make Domlio’s in time to hide the clothes in the well before the sergeant’s call.
He now wondered whether Mrs. Berlyn’s bicycle could have been pressed into the service. Could the lady have brought the machine to the works, lifted it into the tonneau of the car, carried it out on the moor, and ridden back on it to the works? And could her husband have used it to reach first Domlio’s and then Plymouth or some other large town from which he had escaped?
To test the matter, French returned to Lizzie Johnston and asked her if she knew what had become of the bicycle.
But the girl could not tell him. Nor could she recall when or where she had seen it last. She supposed it had been sold at the auction, but in the excitement of that time she had not noticed it.
“Where did Mrs. Berlyn get it, do you know?”
“From Makepeace’s. He has bicycles same as motors. He’ll tell you about it.”
Half an hour later French was talking to Mr. Makepeace. He remembered having some five years earlier sold the machine to Mrs. Berlyn. He looked up his records, and after considerable trouble found a note of the transaction. The bicycle was a Swift, and number 35,721. It had certain dimensions and peculiarities of which he gave French details.
French’s next call was on the auctioneer who had conducted the sale of the Berlyn effects. Mr. Nankivell appeared au fait with the whole case and was obviously thrilled to meet French. He made no difficulty about giving the required information. A bicycle had not been among the articles auctioned, nor had he seen one during his visits to the house.
This was all very well as far as it went, but it was negative. French
