Major Jefferson was bending over the dead man, rapidly and methodically searching his pockets.
“Hullo,” Roger remarked easily from the doorway. “Putting him straight a bit?”
The Major started violently. Then he bit his lip and slowly straightened his back.
“Yes,” he said slowly, after the least possible pause. “Yes. I can’t bear to see this constrained attitude he’s in.”
“It’s beastly,” Roger said sympathetically, advancing unconcernedly into the room and shutting the door behind him. “I know. But I shouldn’t move him if I were you. Not till the police have seen him, at any rate. They’re rather particular about that sort of thing, I believe.”
Jefferson shrugged his shoulders, frowning. “It seems damned nonsense to me,” he said bluntly.
“Look here,” Roger remarked suddenly, “you mustn’t let this thing get on your nerves, you know. Come and take a turn in the garden with me.”
He linked his arm through the other’s and, observing his obvious hesitation, drew him towards the open windows. “Do you all the good in the world,” he persisted.
Jefferson allowed himself to be persuaded.
For some minutes the two strolled up and down the lawn, and Roger took some care to keep the conversation on indifferent topics. But in spite of all his efforts, Jefferson kept looking at his watch, and it was clear that he was counting the minutes before the police might be expected. What Roger, watch how he might, was unable to discover was whether his companion was eager for their arrival or the reverse. The only thing he knew for certain was that this imperturbable man was, for some reason or other, very badly rattled. It might be the simple fact of his employer’s unseemly end which had caused this unwonted state of affairs, Roger thought; for certainly Jefferson and old Stanworth had been a very long time together. On the other hand, it might not. And if this was not the reason, what was?
When they had made the circuit of the rose garden three times, Jefferson halted suddenly.
“The police should be here at any minute now,” he said abruptly. “I’m going to walk down towards the lodge to meet them. I’ll call you when we want you.”
Anything more obvious in the way of a congé could hardly be imagined. Roger accepted it with the best grace he could.
“Very well,” he nodded. “I’ll be somewhere out here.”
Jefferson disappeared rapidly down the drive and Roger was left to continue his walk alone. But he had no intention of being bored. There was, he felt, quite a lot of thinking that he would rather like to do; and the chance of a few minutes’ solitude was not unwelcome. He paced slowly back to the lawn again, his pipe in full blast, and reeking clouds trailing lazily behind him.
But Roger was not to do his thinking just yet. Scarcely had he reached the lawn when Alec appeared from the direction of the stables, somewhat hot and flushed. He fell into step with Roger and began to explain why he had been so long.
“Couldn’t get away from the wretched fellow!” he exclaimed. “Had to tell him the whole thing from beginning to—Hullo! What’s up?”
Roger had halted and was staring in through the library windows. “I’ll swear I left that door shut,” he said in puzzled tones. “Somebody’s opened it. Come on!”
“Where are you going?” Alec asked in surprise.
“To see who’s in the library,” returned Roger, already halfway across the lawn. He quickened his pace to a run and hurried in through the French windows, Alec close on his heels.
A woman who was bending over something on the farther side of the room straightened hastily at their approach. It was Mrs. Plant, and the object over which she had been bending was a large safe that stood by the wall close to the little typewriting table. Roger had just had time to see that she was feverishly twisting the knob before she had sprung up on hearing their footsteps.
She faced them with heaving bosom and horrified eyes, one hand clutching the folds of her frock, the other clenched at her side. It was obvious that she was frightened almost out of her wits.
“Were you looking for anything?” Roger asked politely, and cursed himself for the banality of the words even as he spoke them.
With a tremendous effort Mrs. Plant appeared to pull herself together.
“My jewels,” she muttered jerkily. “I asked—Mr. Stanworth to—to lock them in his safe the other day. I—I was wondering—would the police take them? I thought it might be better if I—”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Plant,” said Roger soothingly, breaking in upon her painful utterances. “The police wouldn’t take them in any case, I expect; and you can easily identify what is yours. They’ll be safe enough, I assure you.”
A little colour was coming slowly back into her cheeks and her breathing was becoming less rapid.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Sheringham,” she said more easily. “It was absurd of me, no doubt, but they’re rather valuable, and I had a sudden panic about them. Of course I ought not to have tried to take them myself. I can’t think what I can have been doing!” She laughed nervously. “Really, I’m positively ashamed of myself. You won’t give me away for being so foolish, will you?”
There was a note of urgent appeal in the last sentence that belied the lightness of the words.
Roger smiled reassuringly. “Of course not,” he said promptly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Oh, thank you so much. I know I can rely on you. And on Mr. Grierson, too. Well, I suppose I’d better run away before anyone else catches me here.”
She made her way out of the room, carefully averting her eyes from the chair by the writing table.
Roger turned to Alec and whistled softly.
“Now what did she want to lie like that for?” he asked with raised eyebrows.
“Do you think she was lying?” Alec asked in puzzled tones. “I should have
