Sir Clinton jotted down these figures also.
“Now, Miss Forrest, I know you’ve had a very trying time. I don’t want to worry you unnecessarily, but it’s essential to get your evidence as to what happened in the Maze. Take your time, and don’t let yourself get excited. It’s all over now.”
Vera gave him her account, to which he listened without putting any questions until she had finished.
“Thanks very much, Miss Forrest. There’s just one point. You heard steps in the Maze several times: a man running at one period and going on tiptoe at other times. You’re sure of that?”
“Quite sure. I’m not likely to forget it soon.”
“I can quite understand that,” said Sir Clinton, soothingly, for the girl was evidently affected by the mere remembrance of what she had gone through. “I’m merely asking these questions to make sure of my ground, you know. You couldn’t have mistaken Mr. Torrance’s footsteps for those of the murderer by any chance?”
At this question, the secretary’s face showed a gleam of enlightenment, as though he had detected a point which he had previously missed. He glanced at Howard Torrance for an instant as though trying to read his face; then he looked again at the girl.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Vera admitted frankly. “But I don’t think I did.”
“You heard Mr. Torrance’s voice from time to time,” Sir Clinton continued. “I’m trying to suggest that he may have called from a distance at the same time as you heard the steps near at hand. You see, it’s essential to find out exactly when the murderer left the Maze if possible; and we can only do that by checking his movements in the Maze.”
Vera thought for a moment or two before she replied.
“I can’t recall it. You know, Sir Clinton, I was nearly out of my mind with panic. I didn’t take note of things. I couldn’t. And there’s another thing—I did notice that I couldn’t make out the directions from which sounds came. The Maze seemed to shift them about anyhow. I really couldn’t tell where Mr. Torrance was at any time when he shouted to me.”
Sir Clinton nodded.
“I’d rather have you say that than try to strain your memory to make things fit. Now, just to make sure: You really did hear the murderer’s steps—or at any rate some steps—quite close to you—on the other side of the hedge, once? And that was before you found Roger Shandon’s body?”
Vera nodded assent to both questions. To her relief, Sir Clinton turned to Stenness.
“Did you note the time when Miss Forrest got back to the house again?”
“I looked at my watch when she was telling me her story. It was then 4:42. I reached the Maze myself at 5:16.”
“You were in your own room upstairs when Miss Forrest came to the house?”
“Yes. My room is at the back, so I could not have seen her coming in, even if I’d been looking out of my window. My first warning of the whole affair was when the maid began to scream.”
Sir Clinton added a jotting to his notes; then he turned to the company with a relaxation of his official air.
“These are the facts, then—the things you could swear to in the witness-box. I take it that you’ve told me all that’s relevant. But, candidly, these facts don’t take us far. The police don’t profess to know the details of people’s private lives; but when an affair of this sort crops up we have to poke our noses in, whether we like it or not. Hitherto we’ve kept to the facts; but now I’d like, if possible, to get your personal views of the meaning of the facts. You probably have intimate knowledge of affairs at Whistlefield which I haven’t got. Does it suggest anything to you in connection with this case?”
He glanced from face to face without putting a direct question to any of his hearers. Vera Forrest was the first to speak.
“I know almost as little as you do yourself, Sir Clinton. I’m a friend of Sylvia, of course; but I know no more about her uncles’ affairs than a casual visitor might pick up in a few days’ stay at the house. The whole thing is an absolute mystery so far as I’m concerned.”
Howard Torrance had the same story to tell.
“I’m in much the same state as Miss Forrest. Neville Shandon I met for the first time a few days ago. Roger was only a casual acquaintance; and I never felt inclined to force myself into his intimacy. I’m really a guest of Miss Hawkhurst, just as Miss Forrest is.”
Sir Clinton turned to the secretary.
“You’ve perhaps had better opportunities, Mr. Stenness?”
The secretary admitted this with a nod.
“I’ve been secretary to Mr. Roger Shandon for the last two years—nearly three. Do you expect me to divulge anything about his private affairs?”
“Anything that seems useful. It can’t hurt him now.”
“Then I needn’t conceal that from time to time he received threatening letters. The last one came only a few days ago. It was written by this man Costock who’s outside in the hall. I can produce it if necessary.”
Sir Clinton contented himself with saying: “I know something about Costock’s career.” He looked at Stenness as though he expected more, but the secretary seemed to have nothing to add on that subject.
“Perhaps you could tell us about the relations between the various members of the family. That must have come under your notice,” Sir Clinton suggested.
Stenness considered for a moment as though arranging his facts.
“The three brothers always seemed to me to be on good enough terms. I never noticed any ill-feeling amongst them. Neville was rather a bully—in his manner, I mean. He always treated one as if one were a hostile witness; but probably that was just a mannerism. Roger was hot-tempered at times.
