the mysterious figure leaving the house? Either my niece Katharine or the Honorable Louise Carewe?'
Thompson swiftly touched his wife's arm. But she refused to be checked. She fluttered like a black chicken, and verbal gravel flew.
She cried: 'Sir, and you too, sir, and you, I cannot, as I keep telling you, be pinned down and hanged by that statement! Sir, I do not know if it was a lady. That was a Impression, sir, and I will not be 'anged and pinned down by a Impression. Which as for saying it were Miss Kate, I would die sooner, and that is all I 'ave to say.'
'Quite right, ma'am, quite right, rumbled H. M., with a voice and stolid bearing which somehow suggested the elder Weller. He sniffed. 'Um, yes. You told us all that, didn't you? Well, I think that's all. You can go.'
When they had gone out, treading softly, H. M. sat for som time ruffling his hands across his head.
'Now, sir-r, prompted Masters.
'You,' said H. M., peering over towards Maurice and extending one finger with a malevolent expression. 'Suppose you do some talkin' now, hey?'
'I am entirely at your service, Sir Henry. And I feel sure you will have no reason to complain of my frankness.'
H. M. blinked. 'Uh-huh. I was afraid of that. Son, frankness is a virtue only when you're talkin' about yourself, and then it's a nuisance. Besides, it's an impossibility. There's only one kind of person who's ever really willing to tell the truth about himself, and that's the kind they certify and shove in the bug-house. And when a person says he intends to be frank about other people, all it means is that he's goin' to give 'em a kick in the eye… Lemme see now. After you and Willard and Rainger came back from the pavilion last night, you and Rainger sat here in the library. How long did you stay here?'
'Until just after I summoned Thompson and told him to have them lock up the dog.'
'I see. Half-past one. Why did you break up then?'
Maurice was watching him warily, like a duellist, but H. M. seemed uninterested. Maurice went on: 'It was Mr. Rainger's wish. I thought it was my brother John returning then, and said so. I confess I was curious to see the effect of a meeting between Mr. Rainger and John, who did not know (I think you were told that?) of Mr. Rainger's presence. They had been having trouble, shall I say?'
'Well, say something. Your mean you thought it 'ud be good fun to see whether John took a swing at Rainger's jaw? What they call a Psychological Study? And Rainger wasn't having any, and made his excuses to get away. Why'd you let him go, then?'
Maurice rubbed his palms slowly together. His forehead was ruffled.
'I should have been most unwise, sir, to take the least chance of incurring Mr. Rainger's ill-will. It was therefore politic to accept as genuine his somewhat clumsy excuses, and let him go upstairs.'
'You didn't go up to bed yourself, then?'
Maurice's smile glittered. 'You jump at conclusions, I fear. I went to bed. But my room is on the ground floor.'
'Now here's another thing that strikes me. This must be a very rummy family you got here, ain't it? You thought it was your brother returnin' at half-past one after a long stay in America; and yet you didn't even go out to say howdy-do-welcome-home to him?'
The other seemed puzzled. 'I see nothing very strange, my dear sir, in all that. I am what is known as the head of the house. If my brother had anything to say to me, I am always happy to hear it; but I really cannot put myself out or be expected to bother my head over him. My habit has always been, Sir Henry,' he lifted his eyes blandly, 'to let people come to me. Hence I am respected. Ah — where was I? Oh, yes. I was aware that he knew where I was. Hence…'
'That's all I wanted to hear,' said H. M., closing his eyes.
'I beg your pardon?'
'Go ‘way, will you?' said H. M. irritably.
Maurice began to speak in a rapid monotone. 'I will go away with the utmost pleasure, if I receive absolute assurance from you that the Queen's Mirror will remain inviolate. I have been very patient, sir. I have endured much that is against my physical comfort and even against my peace of mind. But when your insulting subordinate suggested that such a desecration might have to be performed — tearing to pieces an almost sacred edifice in search for a nonexistent secret passage-then… then…'
'Then you got the wind up,' agreed H. M. composedly. 'All right. You can hop it. I promise; there'll be no search.'
Maurice was so intent that he never saw the two figures standing by the door when he hurried out. It was the first time he had hurried; Bennett saw that there was sweat on his forehead and that he seemed to be singing to himself. Bennett's own suspicions seemed to be caught up in Masters' voice.
'Excuse me, sir,' the chief inspector growled, 'but what the devil did you want to make a promise like that for? Not search for a secret passage?'
'Because there ain't any,' said H. M. He added querulously: 'Shut up, will you? That finicky old maid is scared green that you'll lay a finger on his beautiful ghost-house. If there'd been a secret passage, he'd have told you about it in a second rather than let you sound one panel lookin’ for it. Yah!'
'I'm not so sure of that, sir,' returned Masters. 'What if the secret passage led to his own room?'
'Uh-huh. I thought of that too. Well, if it does, we still got him in a corner. But I think that secret-passage idea is o-u-t.' H. M. scratched his head. For the first time something like a grin disturbed the Chinese-image austerity of his face as he rolled round to look at Masters. 'That locked-room situation has got you bothered as hell, ain't it? Your sole and particular hobgoblin. Seems as though murderers take an especial pleasure in givin' Chief Inspector Humphrey Masters the fits-and-gibbers by refusin' to keep to the rules of cricket. Only this time it's a little bit worse. If you had only the locked-room situation, you could carry on with a cheerful heart. Everybody knows several trick ways of locking a door from the outside. Bolts can be shot with a little mechanism of pins and thread. Key-stems can be turned with a pair of pliers. Hinges can be taken off the door and replaced so that you don't disturb the lock at all. But when your locked-room consists of the simple, plain, insane problem of half-an-inch of unmarked snow for a hundred feet round… well, never mind. There's worse than that, Masters.'
'Worse?
'I was thinkin' about something to do with John Bohun's attempt to kill Lord Canifest, when he didn't succeed but thought he had…'
In the gloom beside him, Bennett felt the girl stiffen. She stared up at him uncomprehendingly; but he gestured her fiercely to be silent. They were eavesdroppers, but he was afraid to speak up-afraid to move now. He regretted coming down here, when something in Katharine's restless brain seemed impelling her to talk. He pressed her arm.
'But we'll skip all that for a minute,' continued H. M. drowsily, 'and look at this impossible situation. The first thing is to determine the murderer's motive. I don't mean his motive for murder, but for creating an impossible situation. That's very important, son, because it's the best kind of clue to the motive for murder. Why'd he do it? Nobody but a loony is goin' to indulge in a lot of unreasonable hocus-pocus just to have some fun with the police. And there are enough motives for Tait's murder flyin' about already without our needin' to explain the mess by simply saying that the murderer is crazy. Well, then, what reasons could there have been?'
'First, there's the motive of a fake suicide. That's fair enough. I go to your house, shoot you through the head, and shove the gun into your hand. Say it's a house like this one, with little panes in the windows. Uh-huh. I lock and bolt the door of the room on the inside. I've got with me a bag containing a piece of glass cut just right, I've got tools and putty. I remove one of the panes of glass in the window nearest the catch. Then I climb out the window, reach through, and lock it on the inside. Afterwards I replace the old pane with my new little one; I putty it round, smear it with dust so nothing shows, and walk away. And so the room's all locked up, and they'll think you shot yourself.'
Masters peered at him uncertainly.
'It strikes me, sir,' he said, 'that you know every dodge-'
'Sure I know every dodge,' H. M. grunted sourly. He stared at the fire. 'I've seen so many things, son, that I don't like to think of 'em at Christmas. I'd like to be home at my place drinkin' hot punch and trimmin' a Christmas tree. But let's sorta poke and prod at this thing. If it's a new wrinkle in the art of homicide, I want to know all about it. First, the suicidefake is barred. Nobody tries to stage a fake suicide by beatin' a woman's head.
'Second, there's the ghost-fake, where somebody tries to make it look like a supernatural killing. That
