white marbled fireplace above which hung a full-length portrait of Sir William Bitton in a massive gilt frame. Flanking the fireplace, two long windows looked out on a garden.
Dr Fell stood in the middle of the dusky room, peering about curiously. A low fire flickered on the brass and irons a pink-shaded lamp burned on a table amid the heavy upholstered furniture round the fireplace.
`There's only one thing now,' the doctor said in a' low voice, `that I've got to be profoundly thankful for. Arbor still thinks I'm Hadley. I may be able, to keep him away from Hadley altogether.
'Thankful? Why?'
`Look behind you,' the other said, nodding.
Rampole switched round. He had not heard Laura Bitton come in over, the thick carpet. And for a moment he scarcely recognized her.
She seemed much older and much quieter. Nor was she the vigorous young woman with the firm step and the level brown eyes who had walked so confidently into the Warders' Hall that afternoon. The eyes were a trifle red; the face fixed and dull.
'I followed you down,' she said, evenly. 'I heard you in the other room: The voice was queer, as though she could not quite understand yet that her husband was dead. `You know all about it, don't you?'
`All about what, Mrs Bitton?'
`Oh, don't quibble. About Phil and me. I knew you would find out'
Dr Fell inclined his head. `You should not have broken into his flat this afternoon, Mrs. Bitton. You were seen.'
She was not interested. `I suppose so. I had a key, but I broke the lock, of the door with a chisel I found there to pretend it was a burglar; but it didn't go down. Never mind. I just want to tell you one thing… ' But she could not go on with it. She looked from one to the other of them, and shut her lips.
`Ma'am,' said the doctor, leaning on his cane, `I know what you were going to say. You only realized just then how it would sound if you said it. You were going to say you never loved Driscoll. Ma'am, isn't it rather late for that?'
`Did you see what he had in his hand?' she asked.
`Yes,' he replied, as she closed her eyes `Yes, ma'am, I did?
`Not the gun! The other hand, I mean. He got it out of the drawer. It was a snapshot of me.'
She spoke steadily, the brown eyes level and glazed, the jaw firm. 'I looked at it, and went back to my room. I have been sitting at the window in the dark, looking out…. If you think I'm trying to excuse myself, you're a fool. But since I saw him lying on that, bed, I think I've seen a thousand, million, God knows how many images and they're all his. I've seen all my life with him. I can't cry now. I cried to-day, about Phil's death, but I can't cry now. I know I loved Lester. It was only because his ideas were so different from mine that I had to hurt him. Now I'll go. And maybe I can cry'
She paused in the doorway, a hand unsteadily on her rumpled brown hair.
`There was only one other thing,' she said, in a quiet voice: `Did Lester kill Phil?'
For a long space the doctor remained motionless. Then he nodded his head.
'Keep that thought with you, ma'am,' he said:'
The door closed behind her.
'You see?' Dr Fell asked. `Or don't you? There's been enough tragedy in this house. I' won't add another, Lester Bitton is dead and the Driscoll case is closed. If Hadley is satisfied, there needn't be any publicity. It can go down as 'unsolved'; and Lester Bitton shot himself over money troubles, real or imaginary. And yet…''
He was still standing there brooding, under the vast walls of books, when Hobbes knocked at the door.
'Excuse me, sir,' said Hobbes. `I have succeeded in waking Sir William. The key was on the inside of his door; I took the liberty of getting a pair of pliers and turning it from the outside. He is upset, sir,' and not very well. But he will be down presently, sir. And there is something else…. '
'Eh?'
'Two policemen are at the door, sir. A recent guest of ours is with them. A Mr Arbor.'
'H'm… Got a little confidential work for you, Hobbes. Do you follow me?'
'Well, Sir?'
'Put those policemen somewhere out of sight. Tell Mr Arbor Mr Hadley is here in the library, and send him back to me. You needn't inform Mr Hadley yet. Got it?'
'Yes, sir.'
There was a brief interval while Dr Fell stumped back and forth on the padded floor, muttering to himself. He turned sharply, as the door opened again, and Hobbes ushered in Julius Arbor.
18. Mr Arbor Hears a Voice
Mr Arbor was now imbued with a certain degree of calmness. But he was not at his ease. His glance had gone to the portrait of Sir William, a white eagle in the dusky room, and his discomfort seemed to grow. He had not let Hobbes take his hat or coat.
`Good evening, Inspector,' he said. `Tritely, I suppose I ought to say good morning. It… er '… I confess, Inspector, that your request to come here somewhat startled me. I…'
`Sit down there,' interrupted the doctor, leading him to the fire. `You remember my colleague here?'
`Yes. Er.. yes, of course,' Arbor said, vaguely. He added, `Is Sir William about?'
`No. That's it. Sit down.'
`I presume he has been informed of my purchase of the manuscript?' inquired Arbor.
`He has. But it doesn't matter now, you know. Neither of you will ever have it. It's burnt.'
The man's finger darted to his eyeglasses to keep them on. He said: `You mean… he… somebody… that is.' Arbor made an uncertain gesture. `How was it destroyed? This is terrible, Inspector!'
The doctor drew out his pocket-book. Carefully he took from it the only part of the manuscript which remained, and stood weighing it thoughtfully.
`May. I… may I see that, Inspector?'
He took the flimsy strip of paper in unsteady hands and held it close under the pink shaded lamp. For some time he studied it, back and front. Then he looked up. `Undoubtedly… ah.. undoubtedly. Inspector, this is an outrage, you know! I own this.'
`Is it worth anything now?'
`Well…'
`I see that there's some hope for you, then. Now, I'll tell you how it is, Arbor,' said Dr Fell, in an argumentative voice suggestive of the elder Weller. `If I were in your shoes, I should take that bit of paper, and put it in my pocket, and forget all about it for the present. You're in enough trouble as it is.'
`Trouble?' demanded Arbor, in rather too challenging a voice. The way he held the paper reminded Rampole of a man with stage-fright holding his notes on a lecture platform; calm in every way except that betraying flutter of the paper,
`Do you know,' continued the,' doctor, pleasantly, `that I've been of half a mind to let you cool off in gaol for a day or two? Why did you run away?'
`Run away? My dear man…!’
'Don't try to deceive me,' said the doctor, in a sinister voice. It was a rather less blatant resurrection of Hamlet's father's Ghost. 'Scotland Yard sees all. Shall I tell you what you did?'
He proceeded to give an account of Arbor's behaviour after leaving the Tower. It was accurate enough in its details, but so neatly distorted that it sounded like the flight of a guilty man from the law.
`You said,' he concluded, `that you had important information to give me personally. I am willing to listen. But I warn, you, man, that your position is very bad. And if you don't tell me the whole truth.
Arbor leaned back in the chair, breathing noisily. The strain of the day, the late hour, all his experiences since the murder, held him limp and nerveless.
`Ah yes,' he murmured. `Yes. I perceive, Inspector, that circumstances have put me in a false light. I will tell you everything. I had intended to do so, but now I see I have no choice. You see, I felt that I was in a doubly
