had heard nothing during the night. He was up and in the garden when the discovery of Lady Tressilian's body had been made. He was an early riser.
There was a pause.
'Miss Aldin has told us that there was a state of tension in the house. Did you notice this, too?'
'I don't think so. Don't notice things much.'
'That's a lie,' thought Battle to himself. 'You notice a good deal, I should say — more than most.'
No, he didn't think Nevile Strange had been short of money in any way. He certainly had not seemed to. But he knew very little about Mr. Strange's affairs.
'How well did you know the second Mrs. Strange?'
'I met her here for the first time.' Battle played his last card.
'You may know, Mr. Royde, that we've found Mr. Nevile Strange's fingerprints on the weapon. And we've found blood on the sleeve of the coat he wore last night.'
He paused. Royde nodded.
'He was telling us,' he muttered.
'I'm asking you frankly: Do you think he did it?'
Thomas Royde never liked to be hurried. He waited for a minute — which is a very long time — before he answered: 'Don't see why you ask me. Not my business. It's yours. Should say, myself — very unlikely.'
'Can you think of anyone who seems to you more likely?'
Thomas shook his head. 'Only person I think likely can't possibly have done it. So that's that.'
'And who is that?'
But Royde shook his head more decidedly.
'Couldn't possibly say. Only my private opinion.'
'It's your duty to assist the police.'
'Tell you any facts. This isn't facts. Just an idea. And it's impossible anyway.'
'We didn't get much out of him,' said Leach when Royde had gone.
Battle agreed.
'No, we didn't. He's got something in his mind — something quite definite. I'd like to know what it is. This is a very peculiar sort of crime, Jim, my boy — '
The telephone rang before Leach could answer. He took up the receiver and spoke. After a minute or two of listening he said 'Good,' and slammed it down.
'Blood on the coat sleeve is human,' he announced. 'Same blood group as Lady T's. Looks as though Nevile Strange is for it — '
Battle had walked over to the window and was looking out with considerable interest.
'A beautiful young man out there,' he remarked. 'Quite beautiful and a definite wrong 'un, I should say. It's a pity Mr. Latimer — for I feel that that's Mr. Latimer — was over at Easterhead Bay last night. He's the type that would smash in his own grandmother's head if he thought he could get away with it and if he knew he'd make something out of it.'
'Well, there wasn't anything in it for him,' said Leach. 'Lady T's death doesn't benefit him in any way whatever.' The telephone bell rang again. 'Damn this phone, what's the matter now?'
He went to it.
'Hullo. Oh, it's you, doctor. What? Come round, has she? What? What?'
He turned his head. 'Uncle, just come and listen to this.'
Battle came over and took the phone. He listened, his face as usual showing no expression. He said to Leach: 'Get Nevile Strange, Jim.'
When Nevile came in, Battle was just replacing the phone on its hook.
Nevile, looking white and spent, stared curiously at the Scotland Yard superintendent, trying to read the emotion behind the wooden mask.
'Mr. Strange,' said Battle . 'Do you know anyone who dislikes you very much?' Nevile stared and shook his head.
'Sure?' Battle was impressive. 'I mean, sir, someone who does more than dislike you — someone who — frankly — hates your guts?'
Nevile sat bolt upright.
'No. No, certainly not. Nothing of the kind.'
'Think, Mr. Strange. Is there no one you've injured in any way — ' Nevile flushed.
'There's only one person I can be said to have injured, and she's not the kind who bears rancour. That's my first wife, when I left her for another woman. But I can assure you that she doesn't hate me. She's — she's been an angel.'
The Superintendent leaned forward across the table.
'Let me tell you, Mr. Strange, you're a very lucky man. I don't say I liked the case against you — I didn't. But it was a case! It would have stood up all right, and unless the jury happened to have liked your personality, it would have hanged you.'
'You speak,' said Nevile, 'as though all that were past.'
'It is past,' said Battle . 'You've been saved, Mr. Strange, by pure chance.'
Nevile still looked inquiringly at him.
'After you left her last night,' said Battle , 'Lady Tressilian rang the bell for her maid.'
He watched whilst Nevile took it in. 'After. Then Barrett saw her — '
'Yes. Alive and well. Barrett also saw you leave the house before she went in to her mistress.'
Nevile said: 'But the niblick — my fingerprints — '
'She wasn't hit with that niblick. Dr. Lazenby didn't like it all the time. I saw that. She was killed with something else. That niblick was put there deliberately to throw suspicion on you. It may be by someone who overheard the quarrel and so selected you as a suitable victim, or it may be because — '
He paused, arid then repeated his question: 'Who is there in this house that hates you, Mr. Strange?'
IX
'I've got a question for you, doctor,' said Battle .
They were in the doctor's house after returning from the nursing home, where they had had a short interview with Jane Barrett.
Barrett was weak and exhausted, but quite clear in her statement.
She had just been getting into bed after drinking her senna when Lady Tressilian's bell had wrung. She had glanced at the dock and seen the time — twenty-five minutes past ten.
She had put on her dressing-gown and come down. She had heard a noise in the hall below and had looked over the balusters.
'It was Mr. Nevile just going out. He was taking his raincoat down from the hook.'
'What suit was he wearing?'
'His grey pinstripe. His face was very worried and unhappy-looking. He shoved his arms into his coat as though he didn't care how he put it on. Then he went out and banged the front door behind him. I went on in to Her Ladyship. She was very drowsy, poor dear, and couldn't remember why she had rung for me — she couldn't always, poor lady. But I beat up her pillows and brought her a fresh glass of water and settled her comfortably.'
'She didn't seem upset or afraid of anything?'
'Just tired, that's all. I was tired myself. Yawning. I went up and went right off to sleep.'
That was Barrett's story, and it seemed impossible to doubt her genuine grief and horror at the news of her mistress's death.
They went back to Lazenby's house, and it was then that Battle announced that he had a question to ask.
'Ask away,' said Lazenby.
'What time do you think Lady Tressilian died?'
