Willard went over and sat down on the other side of the fireplace. 'They were colored matches, it seems. The kind (I think?) every bedroom in this house has been supplied with, ever since Maurice got the fancy for them. Wait!' He held up his hand. 'The police will be asking these questions, John, and it's ordinary sanity to think of them. There were no such matches at the pavilion. Unfortunately, I can swear to that. Except for the actual murderer, I must have been the last person to see Marcia alive. When they lit those fires for her last night, they left no matches in the house…'
'That reminds met said Bohun. 'Maid! Her maid. Carlotta! Where has Carlotta been all this time?'
Willard looked at him sharply. 'Curious, John. I thought you knew that. She left Carlotta behind in London. Leave of absence, or something. Never mind. There were no colored matches, none of any kind, at the pavilion. I gave her a box of the ordinary sort before I left.
'Now let's face it. Casual burglars don't strew the floor with colored matches; let me give you a hint there. But I don't need to hint very broadly. There were very queer things going on in this house itself. At some time last night, something scared old Canifest's daughter, terrified her nearly out of her wits. I heard her cry out, and found her lying on the floor in the passage near the bathroom. I couldn't get a coherent word out of her, except a reference to something or somebody walking up and down in the passage, and the somebody or something had seized her wrist. But she spent the rest of the night with Katharine.'
Bennett heard the fire crackle. John Bohun, who had, been opening a silver cigarette-box, closed it with a snap and turned round.
'Louise,' he said, 'Louise Carewe is here?'
'Why not? She's a friend of Katharine; she's been in America for several months, and hasn't seen her. Why should it surprise you? — I wish to God you wouldn't be so jumpy, my lad,' he added, rather testily. 'It's a good thing you never did become an actor. You'd have the audience embarrassed for you in five minutes.'
'Oh, I don't know,' observed the other. His long hands cupped the match to his cigarette. The flame showed a kind of swaggering, feverish, secret mirth in his eyes. 'I don't know. I might make a better actor than you think. No, it didn't surprise me. Only I was talking to Canifest himself early last night. At his office. And he didn't mention it. Well, well. Maybe she disturbed a family ghost. Have we got any other visitors?'
'Yes. Your good friend Rainger.'
Bennett sat up. 'Steady, now,' Willard went on, as Bohun took the cigarette out of his mouth. 'Take it easy, and listen to me. There's nothing you can do. He is here, and in high favor with Maurice. I don't like to mention it, but before you suggest wringing his neck let me remind you that you're the younger brother. Maurice is foggy and absent-minded enough, but he's nasty when you cross him. And don't underestimate the Enemy. Their business was to keep close to Marcia, and they've done it.'
'So. How did the swine manage?'
Wrinkles of amusement deepened round Willard's eyes. He seemed gradually throwing off befuddlement and shock. He was groping in his pocket after a pipe. 'Easily. Rainger is a shrewd, intelligent, and cultured yes, don't snort; cultured-man. He was here before us yesterday afternoon. When we arrived, out bustled Maurice patting Rainger paternally on the shoulder… '
'Maurice didn't go up to London, then?'
'No. Rainger had already sent him too interesting and suggestive a telegram. It seems that he had conceived the notion, subject to the proper authorities; that a sixteen jewel super-special motion picture might be made of Maurice's scholarly researches, with Maurice's technical advice. It's probably a hoax, but Maurice is only human'
'I begin to understand. Fully equipped with dancing girls and theme-songs, and to be called, `The King Throws A Party.'' Bohun's voice grew high. 'I say, Willard, has my brother gone completely off his rocker?'
'That's where you're wrong. Look here, John; admit the man's got some good points. His direction in 'La Borgia' and `Queen Catherine’ was devilish good. He comes as close to historical accuracy as it's possible to come without actually telling the truth.'
Bohun took a step forward.
'Thank you,' he said, 'for whole-hearted admiration. Perhaps you'll admire him still more when I tell you what the swine's cleverness has done now.' Bennett had a feeling that the man was saying what he ought not to admit, and would regret; that he knew it; and yet that he could not stop himself. 'Shall I tell you how he's blocked us? If Marcia had lived, there would have been no play anyhow. Canifest has refused to back us.'
Willard's hand jerked. He caught the pipe again, and rose halfway out of his chair.
'But he said'
'He said to me last night, not a penny. I saw him at the Globe-Journal office. He was as lordly as the statue of himself over in the comer. After mature consideration (hur-rum), he had decided that for reasons of policy and discretion it would not be well to lend the name of Canifest to theatrical enterprises. Weight of the name! He wasn't to appear at all, blast him. I say, Willard, it shakes you up, doesn't it? Aren't the managers so keen on your work as they used to be — or as Marcia was? So, if you don't get this engagement…'
He stopped.
'I never pretended to be a great actor, John,' Willard said quietly. 'But I don't think I deserved that.'
After a silence Bohun passed his hand across his eyes. Then he replied, just as quietly: 'I beg your pardon, old man. So help me God, I wouldn't have said that… I think you must know by now that I'm an egotistical ass who's usually afraid to talk; and when I do talk I only mess things up. I didn't mean it. But the shock of all these things together… Not that it matters now. Rainger must have talked to Canifest, that's all. I didn't think Rainger knew. If only Marcia hadn't been such a fool’
Again he caught himself up, from a different cause this time. By mutual consent both of them ignored what had been just said about Willard, but Willard took him up rather sharply on this.
'Knew?' he repeated. 'What are you referring to there?' 'Nothing.'
'Not even, for instance, a suggestion that our distinguished publisher had been considering making Marcia Lady Canifest?'
Bohun cackled. 'That's rot, and you must know it. D'you think she'd have him? — Where did you pick up that idea?'
Willard looked at him, and made a slight satiric bow. 'I fancy it was the penalty of my extreme age and decrepitude. I have no particular desire to play father-confessor, but young ladies seem to think I should have. Oh, it's no particular secret. Canifest's daughter told your good niece Katharine, and Katharine (with permission, I believe) told me. The girl seems to be worried. All I could do was make strange clucking noises and say nothing. By the Lord, if Canifest marries Marcia, the fat will literally be in the fire.' He stopped abruptly. 'She's dead. She's dead-and I'd forgotten it. I can't get used to this, John,' he said rather wildly. 'I keep imagining she'll walk in that door at any minute.'
It intensified the gray loneliness of the room. Bohun made a move towards a decanter of brandy on a side- table; but he paused, tightened his shoulders, and looked back again.
'Let's hear,' he said, 'everything that happened last night.'
Willard considered a moment, vaguely. 'It's hard to give facts. Marcia was acting. She carried it off sheerly by force of herself, by that damned force, that hypnosis, whatever it was, that you couldn't resist; but I have never seen her acting — in private — become quite so high-flown. She said she was `attuning herself,' and similar absurdities.'
'You think they were absurdities?'
Willard noted his look. 'Yes, I know how you two feel about the influence of this place. She may have believed it, but somebody should have given her better lines to speak. I think I see the abilities of Rainger now: he's a tamer. If he had been directing that performance, he would have molded those powers in the right direction.' He looked up briefly, and then went on filling his pipe.
'Go on.'
'At dinner I am willing to admit she was brilliant. It was partly the effect of your dining-hall: the polished oak and candlelight and big windows with the moon behind them. Also, she wore a silver gown and had her hair arranged like that portrait of the Duchess of Cleveland over the fireplace. It was a good illusion, even her gestures. Rainger kept a wooden face, but Maurice was almost dodderingly worshipful. He had put on his thickest-lensed spectacles in honor of the occasion. As for Katharine and Canifest's daughter, I do not believe they were impressed. I should think little Louise hated her. As for Katherine, she had one sharp brush with Her Ladyship when Marcia
