“Never you mind that. You concentrate on avoiding arrest yourself. Now, will you answer my question?”
After some further urging the statement came. Cosgrove had not spent the evening in his rooms. He had left about to catch the at King’s Cross, but he had returned unexpectedly in about an hour. He told the butler he had missed his train, and was travelling by a later one. He had gone out again, almost at once, and the butler had not seen him for two days.
Tanner asked several searching questions, and ended up completely satisfied that the man was telling the truth. There was no doubt whatever that Cosgrove’s story was true in this particular also.
There now remained to be checked only the matter of his visit to the Follies, and though Tanner was not certain of the necessity for this, his habit of thoroughness again asserted itself, and he drove to the theatre. There he learnt that there was no rehearsal that forenoon, and he went straight on to Chelsea. His ring at the actress’s flat was answered by a smartly dressed maid, to whom he handed his card, asking for an interview with her mistress.
The girl disappeared and in a few moments returned.
“Miss Belcher will see you now, sir.”
He was ushered into a small drawing-room, charmingly furnished in pale blue, with white enamelled woodwork. The chairs were deep and luxurious though elegant, the walls panelled with silk and bearing a few good monochrome drawings, while on the dark polished floor were thick and, as the Inspector knew, costly rugs. But though everything in the room was dainty, its outstanding feature was its roses. Roses were everywhere, massed in great silver bowls and rare old cut-glass vases.
“It’s a rose case,” thought the Inspector whimsically, as he recalled that in two other sitting rooms he had had to visit—those of Miss Lois Drew and Cosgrove Ponson—he had found the same decoration, though in neither case with the same prodigal liberality as here.
He waited for over half an hour and then the door opened and Miss Belcher appeared.
Seeing her full face in the light from the window, he realised her beauty as he had not done in the restaurant. Though she was slightly—Tanner thought comfortable looking, though jealous people might have used the word stout—her features were so delicately moulded, her little, pouting mouth so daintily suggestive of dimples, her light blue eyes so large and appealing, her complexion so creamy, and above all and crowning all, her hair, so luxuriant and of so glorious a shade of red gold, that he began to understand the position she held in the popular favour. She was dressed in a garment which Tanner imagined was a negligee, a flowing robe of light-blue silk trimmed with the finest lace, beneath which peeped out the tiny toe of a gilt slipper.
Tanner bowed low.
“I beg you to pardon this intrusion, madame,” he said, “but my business is both serious and urgent.”
Without speaking, the actress sank gracefully into a luxurious armchair, indicating with a careless wave of her arm a seat for the Inspector in front of her. He obeyed her gesture and continued:
“I have been ordered, madame, to make an investigation into the death of the late Sir William Ponson of Luce Manor, not far from Luton. I understand that you are acquainted with his nephew, Mr. Cosgrove Ponson?” His hostess nodded, still without speaking. Tanner thought her manner unnecessarily ungracious, and determined to give a hint of the iron which lurked beneath his velvet exterior.
“I deeply regret to have to inform you that there is reason to believe Sir William was murdered, and that grave suspicion rests on Mr. Cosgrove.”
This time the mask of indifference was pierced.
“But how perfectly outrageous,” the lady cried, a flicker of anger passing over her expressive face, “and stupid and cruel as well. How dare you come here and tell me such a thing?”
“Because I think you may help me to clear him. Please consider the facts. The medical evidence shows Sir William was murdered some time after . We know that Mr. Cosgrove Ponson was financially in low water—in fact, was in debt for a very large sum, and under threat of exposure and ruin unless he paid up. We know also he benefited to a considerable extent under Sir William’s will. Further, in the boathouse from which Sir William’s body was set adrift, a cigarette end was found—one of a peculiar brand, but little smoked in England, but which Mr. Ponson continually uses, and lastly, and this is what brings me to you today, Mr. Ponson has been unable to account satisfactorily for his time on the evening in question. He says he was with you from till , and what I want to ask you is, Can we get proof of that? I think you will appreciate that proof of that means proof of his innocence.”
Tanner had been unobtrusively watching his companion while he spoke, and her demeanour interested him keenly. While he was recounting the medical evidence and Cosgrove’s financial position she had listened perfunctorily, as if bored by such trifles being brought to her notice. But when he mentioned the cigarette she started and a look first of fear and then of anger showed momentarily in her eyes. It seemed to Tanner she might have so acted if she knew Cosgrove was guilty—as if she was aware of and prepared for all he had to say except this about the cigarette, and that her anger was against Cosgrove for having smoked under such circumstances. She did not speak for some moments, and Tanner felt instinctively she had seen his little trap, and was considering a way out. At last she appeared to come to a conclusion, and replied
