He took it from the other’s outstretched hand and examined it with interest. The paper was slightly creased, and the message itself was typewritten. The signature, Victor Stanworth, was bold and firm; but just above it was another attempt, which had only got as far as V-i-c and looked as if it had been written with a pen insufficiently supplied with ink.
“He must have gone about the business with extraordinary deliberation,” Roger commented. “He goes to the trouble of typing this instead of writing it; and when he finds he hadn’t dipped his pen deep enough in the ink-pot, calmly signs it again. And just look at that signature! Not a trace of nerves in it, is there?”
He handed the paper back, and the Major looked at it again.
“Stanworth was never much troubled with nerves,” he remarked shortly. “And the signature’s genuine enough. I’d take my oath on that.”
Alec could not help feeling that Jefferson’s words had supplied an answer to a question which Roger had purposely refrained from asking.
“Well, I don’t know much about this sort of thing,” Roger observed, “but I suppose one thing’s certain. The body mustn’t be touched before the police come.”
“Even in the case of a suicide?” Jefferson asked doubtfully.
“In any case, surely.”
“I shouldn’t have thought it would have mattered in this case,” said Jefferson, a little reluctantly. “Still, perhaps you’re right. Not that it matters either way,” he added quickly.
There was a tap on the half-open door.
“I’ve telephoned to Doctor Matthewson and the police,” came Lady Stanworth’s even tones. “They’re sending an inspector over from Elchester at once. And now don’t you think we ought to tell the others in the dining room?”
“I think so certainly,” said Roger, who happened to be nearest to the door. “There’s no sense in delaying it. Besides, if we tell them now it will give them time to get over it a little before the police come.”
“Quite so,” said Jefferson. “And the servants as well. Graves, you’d better go and break the news in the kitchen. Be as tactful as you can.”
“Very good, sir.”
With a last, but quite expressionless glance at his late master, the burly figure turned and walked slowly out of the room.
“I’ve seen people more cut up at the death of a man they’ve lived with for twenty years than that gentleman,” Roger murmured in Alec’s ear, raising his eyebrows significantly.
“And I wish you would be good enough to break the news in the dining room, Major Jefferson,” Lady Stanworth remarked. “I really hardly feel up to it myself.”
“Of course,” said Jefferson quickly. “In fact, I think it would be much better if you went up to your room and rested a little before the police get here, Lady Stanworth. This is bound to be a very great strain. I will tell one of the maids to take you up a cup of tea.”
Lady Stanworth looked a trifle surprised, and for a moment it seemed that she was going to object to this course. Evidently, however, she changed her mind if that was the case; for she only said quietly, “Thank you. Yes, I think that would be best. Please let me know directly the police arrive.”
She made her way, a little wearily, up the broad staircase and disappeared from view.
Jefferson turned to Roger. “I think as a matter of fact that I should prefer you to tell the ladies, if you would, Sheringham. You’d do it much better than I. I’m not much use at putting unpleasant things in a pleasant way.”
“Certainly I will, if you’d rather. Alec, you’d better stay here with the Major.”
Jefferson hesitated. “As a matter of fact, Grierson, I was wondering if you would be good enough to run across to the stables and tell Chapman to have the car ready all day today, as it might be wanted any time at a moment’s notice. Will you?”
“Of course,” said Alec promptly and hurried off, only too glad of the opportunity for a little action. He had not yet quite got over that first sight of the dead man in the streaming sunshine.
Roger walked slowly across to the dining-room door; but he was not pondering over what he was going to say. He was repeating to himself over and over again, “Why was Jefferson so infernally anxious to get rid of the four of us in such a hurry? Why? Why? Why?”
With his hand on the very knob of the door a possible answer came to him, in the form of another question.
“Why was Jefferson so reluctant to admit that the body must not be touched before the arrival of the police?”
It was a somewhat distrait Roger who opened the dining-room door, and proceeded to acquaint three astounded ladies with the somewhat surprising fact that their host had just shot himself through the head.
Their reception of his news did not speak very well for Roger’s tactfulness. It may have been that his preoccupation with what was in his mind prevented him from doing justice to himself; but the fact remains that even he was considerably startled by the way in which his hearers behaved, and it took a good deal to startle Roger.
Mrs. Shannon, it is true, merely remarked with a not unjustified annoyance that it was really exceedingly awkward as she had made all her arrangements for being here another ten days and now she supposed they would have to leave at once, and where on earth did anyone think they could go to with the house in town shut up and all the servants away? Barbara rose slowly to her feet, with every trace of colour drained out of her face, swayed a little and, sitting down abruptly, stared with unseeing eyes out into the sunlit garden. Mrs. Plant incontinently and silently fainted.
But Roger had other things to do than dancing attendance upon fainting and hysterical ladies. Leaving Mrs. Plant somewhat unceremoniously to the ministrations of Barbara and her mother, he hurried back to the library,
