hasn't worn off. He's sitting by a fire in his room, with a dressing-gown over his shoulders, as stupid as an image. All he kept saying was, 'See that my guests have refreshments.''
`What are you going to do, then?'
`I've had to send' for Dr Watson, the police surgeon. When he gets here I'll have him fix something to wake the old man up; and then' Hadley nodded grimly — ‘we'll share the duty of telling him everything.'
They could hear a night wind muttering in the chimneys. Rampole thought of that portrait, the white eagle face, standing with shoulders back, in the library. And he thought again of a lonely man in a lonely house; the old war-eagle now, huddled in a dressing-gown before a low fire in his room, and counting armies in the blaze.
Hobbes emerged from the rear of the hallway.
`At Sir William's suggestion, gentlemen,' he said, `I have prepared some sandwiches and coffee in the library, and there is a decanter of whisky, if you should care for it..’
They moved slowly along the hall, back to the' library, where a bright blaze was licking up round the coal in the grate, and a covered tray stood on a side-table.
`Stay with Sir William, Hobbes,' Hadley directed. `If he wakens, come down after me. Admit the police surgeon when he arrives, and show him upstairs.'
They sat down wearily in the firelight.
`I got the final proof,' Hadley declared, as the doctor did things with a tantalus, `when I talked to Mrs Bitton a few minutes ago.. She said she'd been down here and spoken' to you. She said that you were convinced her husband had killed Driscoll….'
`Did she? — What did she think about it?'
`She wasn't so sure, until I told her the full story; that's what took me so long upstairs. I couldn't get much out of her. She seemed almost ass drugged as the old man. Her idea was that Bitton was quite capable of it, but that he'd be more likely to walk into Driscoll's rooms and strangle him rather than waylay him in a dark corner with a crossbow bolt. And she couldn't reconcile his putting the hat on Driscoll's, head. She was willing to swear he didn't think along those lines; he wasn't an imaginative type…. Hadley frowned. `It bothers me, Fell. She's quite right about that, unless Bitton had unsuspected depths.'
The doctor, who was mixing drinks with his back to Hadley, stopped with his hand on the syphon.
`I thought you were satisfied?'
`I am; I suppose. There's absolutely no other person who can fit the evidence. And what makes it certain… Did you know Bitton had a gift for mimicry? I didn't, until she told me.'
`Eh?'
`Yes. His one talent, and he never employed it nowadays; he didn't think it was — well, fitting. But Mrs Bitton said he used to burlesque his brother making a speech, and hit him off to the life. He could easily have put in that fake telephone call''
There was a curious, sardonic expression on the doctor's face as he stood up.
`Hadley,' he said, `that's an omen. It's coincidence carried to the nth degree. I couldn't have believed it, and I'm glad we didn't hear it at the beginning of the investigation; it would only have confused us.'
`What are you talking about?'
`Let's hear the full outline of what Bitton did, as you read it.,
Hadley settled back with a chicken sandwich.
`Well it's fairly plain. Bitton had made up his mind to kill Driscoll when he returned from the trip. He was a little mad, anyhow, if his behaviour tells everything, and it explains what happened afterwards.
`I don't think he intended at first to make any secret of it. His plan was simply to go to Driscoll's flat and choke the life out of him; and he made up his mind to do it that morning. He was determined to see Driscoll, you know. He borrowed Sir William's key to be sure he could get into the apartment.
`He arrived there, and Driscoll was out. So he prowled through the apartment. In all likelihood he was looking for incriminating evidence against his wife and her lover. You remember the oil and the whetstone on Driscoll's desk? The oil was fresh; Driscoll had probably been working on that crossbow bolt, and it was lying there conspicuously. Remember that the bolt had a significance to Bitton; it was one which he and his wife had bought together….'
Dr Fell rubbed his forehead. `I hadn't thought of that,' he muttered; `the omens are still at work. Carry on, Hadley'
`And he found the top-hat. He must have surmised that Driscoll- was the Mad Hatter, but that didn't interest him so much as a recollection of Driscoll's wish to die in a tophat. You see the psychology, Fell? If he'd merely run across a top-hat of Driscoll's, the suggestion mightn't have been so strong. But a hat belonging to his brother — a perfect piece of stage-setting…’
`Suddenly, his plan came to him. There was no reason why he should suffer for killing Driscoll. If he stabbed Driscoll at some place which wouldn't be associated with Lester Bitton, and put the stolen hat on the body, he would have done two things: First, he would have put suspicion on the Mad Hatter as the murderer. But the hat- thief was the man he was going to kill!… and consequently, the police could never hang an innocent person for murder.
Secondly: he would have fulfilled Driscoll's bombastic wish
`Further, from his point of view the choice of that bolt as a weapon was an ideal one. It had its significance. to begin with. And, though Driscoll had stolen the bolt secretly from his house, he didn't know that. Seeing the bolt on Driscoll's' desk, he naturally imagined that Driscoll had got it openly asked for it and that anybody in his own house would know it was in Driscoll's possession. Hence suspicion would be turned away from his own house! He couldn't have been expected to think that Driscoll had carefully concealed a theft of that trumpery souvenir, when it could have been had for the asking. Can you imagine what must have been his horror, then, when he found us suspecting his wife?'
The doctor took a long drink of whisky.
`You've got a better case than I' thought, my boy,' he said. `The Gentleman who pulls the cords must have been amused by this one. I am listening.'
`So, in his half-crazy brain, he evolves a new plan. He knew Driscoll was going to the Tower at one o'clock, to meet Dalrye, because he had heard it at breakfast. He didn't know his wife was going there, of course. His one idea was to get Driscoll alone. If Driscoll went to the Tower, he would be certain to be with Dalrye; and a murder might be devilish awkward.’
`You can see what he did. He took the hat and the bolt home with him, and left the house early; before one o'clock. He phoned Dalrye from a public box, imitated Driscoll's voice, and got Dalrye away. At one o'clock he was at the Tower. But Driscoll didn't appear; Driscoll was twenty minutes late….'
Hadley drank a mouthful of scalding coffee and set down the cup. He struck his fist into his palm. `Do you realize, man, that, if we look back over our times in this case, Driscoll must have walked into the Tower of London no more than a few minutes, or more likely a few seconds, before Laura Bitton did? Driscoll was late; she was early. And as soon as Driscoll got up to General Mason's rooms he looked out of the window and saw Laura Bitton by Traitors' Gate… In other words, Lester Bitton, lurking about for a suitable opportunity to kill Driscoll as soon as he could, saw both of them come in. He hadn't bargained on, her. There was to be a meeting, clearly. For fear of detection, he couldn't strike until it was over.
`He waited. As he had thought, a person of Driscoll's wild and restless nature, wouldn't sit cooped up' in General Mason's rooms. He would wander about, in any event. And he would certainly come down now, for his rendezvous with Laura…. Fell, when Driscoll came downstairs and met Laura at the rail, Bitton must have been concealed under the arch of the Bloody, Tower, watching them.'
The doctor was sitting back, one hand shading his eyes. The fire had grown to a fierce heat now. -
`He saw the interview, with what rage we can imagine. He heard Laura Bitton say she loved him..:. and then, a thing which must have crazed him by its perverse irony, he saw Driscoll leave her, hurriedly and almost contemptuously, and walk towards him under the arch of the Bloody Tower. Driscoll had done more than loved his wife; he had scorned his wife. And now Driscoll was walking towards him in the fog, and the crossbowbolt was ready in Bitton's hand.'
Dr Fell did not take his hand away from his eyes; he parted two fingers, and the bright eye gleamed suddenly behind his, glasses.
`I say, Hadley… when you, talked to Mrs Bitton, did she say Driscoll really did go under the arch of the Bloody
