“You’d lose again if you did,” Mrs. Plant smiled. “I was only in one room, worse still. I stayed in the drawing room the whole time till I met you in the hall on my way upstairs. There! What was the bet, by the way?”
“I shall have to think of that. A handkerchief, I think, don’t you? Yes, I owe you a handkerchief.”
“What a poor little bet!” Mrs. Plant laughed. “I wouldn’t have taken it if I’d known it was going to be so unremunerative.”
“Well, I’ll throw in a bottle of scent to go with it, shall I?”
“That would be better, certainly.”
“Better stop there, Sheringham,” Jefferson put in. “She’ll have got on to gloves before you know where you are.”
“Oh, I’m drawing the line at scent. What’s your favourite brand, by the way, Mrs. Plant?”
“Amour des Fleurs,” Mrs. Plant replied promptly. “A guinea a bottle!”
“Oh! Remember, I’m only a poor author.”
“Well, you asked for my favourite, so I told you. But that isn’t the one I generally use.”
“Ah, now we’re getting warmer. Something about elevenpence a bottle is more like my mark.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to pay just a little more than that. Parfum Jasmine; nine and sixpence. And it will serve you right.”
“I shan’t bet with you again, Mrs. Plant,” Roger retorted with mock severity. “I hate people who win bets against me. It isn’t fair.”
For the rest of dinner Roger seemed to be a little preoccupied.
As soon as the ladies had left the room, he strolled over to the open French windows which, like those of the library on the other side, led out on to the lawn.
“I think a smoke in the open air is indicated,” he observed carelessly. “Coming, Alec? What about you, Jefferson?”
“No rest for me, I’m afraid,” Jefferson replied with a smile. “I’m up to the eyes in it.”
“Straightening things up?”
“Trying to; they’re in a dreadful muddle.”
“Finances, you mean?”
“Yes, that and everything. He always managed his own affairs and this is the first time I’ve seen his passbooks and the rest. As he appeared to have accounts at no less than five different banks, you can understand something of what I’ve got to wade through.” Jefferson’s manner was perfectly friendly and open, almost frank.
“That’s funny. I wonder why he did that. And have you found any reason for his killing himself?”
“None,” said Jefferson candidly. “In fact, the whole thing absolutely beats me. It’s the last thing you’d have expected of old Stanworth, if you’d known him as well as I did.”
“You knew him pretty well, of course?” Roger asked, applying a match to his cigarette.
“I should say so. I was with him longer than I like to remember,” Jefferson replied with a little laugh that sounded somewhat bitter to Roger’s suspicious ears.
“What sort of a man was he really? I thought him quite a good sort; but then I’d probably only seen one side of him.”
“Oh, everyone has their different sides, don’t they?” Jefferson parried. “I don’t suppose Stanworth was very unlike anyone else.”
“Why did he employ an ex-prize-fighter as a butler?” Roger asked suddenly, looking the other straight in the face.
But Jefferson was not to be caught off his guard.
“Oh, a whim I should think,” he said easily. “He had plenty of whims like that.”
“It seems funny to meet with a butler called Graves in real life,” Roger said with a little smile. “They’re always called Graves on the stage, aren’t they?”
“Oh, that isn’t his real name. He’s really called Bill Higgins, I believe. Mr. Stanworth couldn’t face the name of Higgins, so he called him Graves instead.”
“It’s a pity. Higgins is an admirably original name for a butler. Besides, it harmonises much more with the gentleman’s general air of ruggedness, doesn’t it? Well, what about this breath of air we promised ourselves, Alec? See you later no doubt, Jefferson.”
Jefferson nodded amicably, and the two strolled out on to the lawn. It was only just beginning to get dusk, and the light was still strong.
“I’ve found out who the handkerchief belongs to, Alec,” Roger said in a low voice.
“Have you? Who?”
“Mrs. Plant. I was almost certain before we sat down to dinner, but what she said clinched it. That scent is jasmine right enough.”
“And what are you going to do?”
Roger hesitated. “Well, you heard what she said,” he replied, almost apologetically. “She didn’t actually deny it, because I never asked her; but she wouldn’t admit to being in the library at all yesterday evening.”
“But surely it’s a perfectly innocent thing to be in the library?” Alec protested. “Why, Stanworth wasn’t even there. He was out in the garden with you. Why shouldn’t she have been in the library?”
“And, equally, why shouldn’t she acknowledge it?” Roger retorted quickly.
“It may have slipped her memory. That’s nothing. You were saying yourself how difficult it is to remember exactly where one’s been.”
“It’s no use, Alec,” Roger said gently. “We’ve got to clear this up. It may be innocent enough; I only hope it is! On the other hand, it may be exceedingly important for us to find out just exactly why Mrs. Plant was in that library, and what she was doing there. You must see that we can’t leave it as it is.”
“But what do you propose to do? Tackle her about it?”
“Yes. I’m going to ask her point-blank if she was in the library last night or not, and see what she says.”
“And if she denies it?”
Roger shrugged his shoulders. “That remains to be seen,” he said shortly.
“I don’t like it,” Alec frowned. “In fact, I hate it. It’s a beastly position. Look here, Roger,” he said with sudden earnestness, “let’s chuck the whole thing! Let’s assume, as the police are doing, that old Stanworth committed suicide and leave it at that. Shall we?”
“You bet we won’t!” Roger said grimly. “I’m not going to leave a thing half threshed out like that; especially not such an interesting thing
