“Let’s change the subject,” said Barbara, with a little shiver. “Oh! Good morning, Mrs. Plant. Hullo, Mother, dear! Had a good night?”
Mrs. Shannon, small and fair like her daughter, was in all other respects as unlike Barbara as could well be imagined. In place of that young lady’s characterful little face, Mrs. Shannon’s features were doll-like and insipid. She was pretty enough, in a negative, plump sort of way; but interest in her began and ended with her appearance. Barbara’s attitude towards her was that of patient protectiveness. To see the two together one would think, apart from their ages, that Barbara was the mother and Mrs. Shannon the daughter.
“A good night?” she repeated peevishly. “My dear child, how many times must I tell you that it is quite impossible for me to get any sleep at all in this wretched place? If it isn’t the birds, it’s the dogs; and if it isn’t the dogs, it’s—”
“Yes, Mother,” Barbara interrupted soothingly. “What would you like to eat?”
“Oh, let me,” exclaimed Alec, jumping up. “And, Mrs. Plant, what are you going to have?”
Mrs. Plant, a graceful, dark-haired lady of twenty-six or so, with a husband in the Sudanese Civil Service, indicated a preference for ham; Mrs. Shannon consented to be soothed with a fried sole. Conversation became general.
Major Jefferson looked in once and glanced round the room in a worried way. “Nobody’s seen Mr. Stanworth this morning, have they?” he asked the company in general, and receiving no reply, went out again.
Barbara and Roger engaged in a fierce discussion on the relative merits of tennis and golf, for the latter of which Roger had acquired a half-blue at Oxford. Mrs. Shannon explained at some length to Alec over her second sole why she could never eat much breakfast nowadays. Mary Plant came to the aid of Barbara in proving that whereas golf was a game for the elderly and crippled, tennis was the only possible summer occupation for the young and energetic. The room buzzed.
The appearance of Lady Stanworth caused the conversation to stop abruptly. In the ordinary course of events she breakfasted in her own room. A tall, stately woman, with hair just beginning to turn gray, she was never anything but cool and dignified; but this morning her face seemed even more serious than usual. For a moment she stood in the doorway, looking round the room as Major Jefferson had done a few minutes before.
Then, “Good morning, everybody,” she said slowly. “Mr. Sheringham and Mr. Grierson, can I have a word with you for a moment?”
In deep silence Roger and Alec pushed back their chairs and rose. It was obvious that something out of the ordinary had occurred, but nobody quite liked to ask a question. In any case, Lady Stanworth’s attitude did not encourage curiosity. She waited till they had reached the door, and motioned for them to precede her. When they had passed through, she shut the door carefully after her.
“What’s up, Lady Stanworth?” Roger asked bluntly, as soon as they were alone.
Lady Stanworth bit her lip and hesitated, as if making up her mind. “Nothing, I hope,” she said, after a little pause. “But nobody has seen my brother-in-law this morning and his bed has not been slept in, while the library door and windows are locked on the inside. Major Jefferson sent for me and we have talked it over and decided to break the door down. He suggested that it would be as well if you and Mr. Grierson were present also, in case—in case a witness outside the household should be required. Will you come with me?”
She led the way in the direction of the library, and the other two followed.
“You’ve called to him, I suppose?” Alec remarked.
“Yes. Major Jefferson and Graves have both called to him, here and outside the library windows.”
“He’s probably fainted or something in the library,” said Roger reassuringly, with a good deal more conviction than he felt. “Or it may be a stroke. Is his heart at all weak?”
“Not that I’ve ever heard, Mr. Sheringham.”
By the library door Major Jefferson and the butler were waiting; the former impassive as ever, the latter clearly ill at ease.
“Ah, here you are,” said the Major. “Sorry to bother you like this, but you understand. Now, Grierson, you and Graves and myself are the biggest; if we put our shoulders to the door together I think we can force it open. It’s pretty strong, though. You by the handle, Graves; and you next, Grierson. That’s right. Now, then, one—two—three—heave!”
At the third attempt there was the sound of tearing woodwork, and the heavy door swung on its hinges. Major Jefferson stepped quickly over the threshold. The others hung back. In a moment he was back again, his sallow face the merest trifle paler.
“What is it?” asked Lady Stanworth anxiously. “Is Victor there?”
“I don’t think you had better go in for the moment, Lady Stanworth,” said Major Jefferson slowly, intercepting her as she stepped forward. “Mr. Stanworth appears to have shot himself.”
III
Mr. Sheringham Is Puzzled
Like many of the other rooms at Layton Court, the library had been largely modernised. Dark oak panelling still covered the walls, but the big open fireplace, with its high chimneypiece, had been blocked up and a modern grate inserted. The room was a large one and (assuming that we are standing just inside the hall with our backs to the front door) formed the right-hand corner of the back of the house corresponding with the dining room on the other side. Between these two was a smaller room, of the same breadth as the hall, which was used as a gunroom, storeroom, and general convenience room. The two rooms on either side of the deep hall in the front of the house were the drawing room, on the same side as the library, and the morning room opposite. A narrow passage between the morning room and
