'Of course! I wondered why the name was familiar. But I didn't even know that Dr. Christow knew her.'
She seemed so positive on the point that the Inspector abandoned it at once. He went on to question her about Dr. Christow's manner on the preceding Saturday. And here, for the first time, the confidence of Beryl's replies wavered. She said, slowly:
'His manner wasn't quite as usual.'
'What was the difference?'
'He seemed distrait. There was quite a long gap before he rang for his last patient -and yet normally he was always in a hurry to get through when he was going away. I thought-yes, I definitely thought he had something on his mind.'
But she could not be more definite.
Inspector Grange was not very satisfied with his investigations. He'd come nowhere near establishing motive- and motive had to be established before there was a case to go to the Public Prosecutor.
He was quite certain in his own mind that Gerda Christow had shot her husband. He suspected jealousy as the motive-but so far he had found nothing to go on. Sergeant Coombes had been working on the maids but they all told the same story. Mrs. Christow worshipped the ground her husband walked on.
Whatever happened, he thought, must have happened down at The Hollow. And remembering The Hollow, he felt a vague disquietude. They were an odd lot down there.
The telephone on the desk rang and Miss Collier picked up the receiver.
She said, 'It's for you, Inspector,' and passed the instrument to him.
'Hullo, Grange here… What's that?…' Beryl heard the alteration in his tone and looked at him curiously. The wooden-looking face was impassive as ever.
He was grunting-listening-'Yes… yes, I've got that… That's absolutely certain, is it?… No margin of error… Yes… yes… yes, I'll be down. I've about finished here… Yes.'
He put the receiver back and sat for a moment motionless. Beryl looked at him curiously.
He pulled himself together and asked in a voice that was quite different from the voice of his previous questions:
'You've no ideas of your own, I suppose, Miss Collier, about this matter?'
'You mean-'
'I mean no ideas as to who it was killed Dr. Christow?'
She said flatly:
'I've absolutely no idea at all, Inspector.'
Grange said slowly:
'When the body was found, Mrs. Christow was standing beside it with the revolver in her hand-'
He left it purposely as an unfinished sentence.
Her reaction came promptly. Not heated, cool and judicial.
'If you think Mrs. Christow killed her husband, I am quite sure you are wrong. Mrs. Christow is not at all a violent woman. She is very meek and submissive and she was entirely under the doctor's thumb. It seems to me quite ridiculous that anyone could imagine for a moment that she shot him, however much appearances may be against her.'
'Then if she didn't, who did?' he asked sharply.
Beryl said slowly, 'I've no idea…'
The Inspector moved to the door. Beryl asked:
'Do you want to see Mrs. Christow before you go?'
'No-yes, perhaps I'd better.'
Again Beryl wondered; this was not the same man who had been questioning her before the telephone rang. What news had he got that had altered him so much?
Gerda came into the room nervously. She looked unhappy and bewildered. She said in a low, shaky voice:
'Have you found out any more about who killed John?'
'Not yet, Mrs. Christow.'
'It's so impossible-so absolutely impossible.'
'But it happened, Mrs. Christow.'
She nodded, looking down, screwing a handkerchief into a little ball.
He said quietly:
'Had your husband any enemies, Mrs. Christow?'
'John? Oh, no. He was wonderful. Everyone adored him.'
'You can't think of anyone who had a grudge against him,' he paused, 'or against you?'
'Against me?' She seemed amazed. 'Oh, no, Inspector.'
Inspector Grange sighed.
'What about Miss Veronica Cray?'
'Veronica Cray? Oh, you mean the one who came that night to borrow matches?'
'Yes, that's the one. You knew her?'
Gerda shook her head.
'I'd never seen her before. John knew her years ago-or so she said.'
'I suppose she might have had a grudge against him that you didn't know about?'
Gerda said with dignity:
'I don't believe anybody could have had a grudge against John. He was the kindest and most unselfish-oh, and one of the noblest men.'
'H'm,' said the Inspector. 'Yes. Quite so. Well, good morning, Mrs. Christow. You understand about the inquest? Eleven o'clock Wednesday in Market Depleach. It will be very simple-nothing to upset you -probably be adjourned for a week so that we can make further inquiries.'
'Oh, I see. Thank you.'
She stood there staring after him. He wondered whether, even now, she had grasped the fact that she was the principal suspect.
He hailed a taxi-justifiable expense in view of the piece of information he had just been given over the telephone. Just where that piece of information was leading him, he did not know. On the face of it, it seemed completely irrelevant-crazy. It simply did not make sense. But in some way that he could not yet see, it must make sense.
The only inference to be drawn from it was that the case was not quite the simple straightforward one that he had hitherto assumed it to be.
Chapter XVII
Sir Henry stared curiously at Inspector Grange.
He said slowly, 'I'm not quite sure that I understand you, Inspector.'
'It's quite simple, Sir Henry. I'm asking you to check over your collection of firearms. I presume they are catalogued and indexed?'
'Naturally. But I have already identified the revolver as part of my collection.'
'It isn't quite so simple as that, Sir Henry.' Grange paused a moment. His instincts were always against giving out any information, but his hand was being forced in this particular instance. Sir Henry was a person of importance. He would doubtless comply with the request that was being made to him, but he would also require a reason.
The Inspector decided that he had got to give him the reason.
He said quietly:
'Dr. Christow was not shot with the revolver you identified this morning.'
Sir Henry's eyebrows rose.
'Remarkable!' he said.
