the gadget, and reconstructed it. Just curiosity, to amuse people. Naturally the hotel didn't know about it, or it'd have come out of there pretty quick. Dangerous. Keppel was careful not to tell a police friend of his about it. Also, he kept it locked; and warned the maids never to touch that window or the bogeyman would get 'em. Queer fish, Keppel.'
'So the guillotine-window,' mumbled H.M., 'has got no sinister significance, hey? Tell me, son: why do you talk about Keppel in the past tense?'
Antrim blinked. 'Did I? I wasn't conscious of it. Sorry.
'Don't be sorry. You were right. Keppel was murdered tonight, son.'
A light little wind shook the laurels outside the French windows, and a few drops of rain struck the glass. Antrim sat back in his chair like a man who has got a cramp in his stomach, and wants to ease it; but his eyes remained fixed on H.M.
'With the same stuff that killed Hogenauer,' H.M. added.
'My God,' said Antrim vacantly.
'Does Betty know?' he asked, after a pause.
'No. I didn't think we needed to alarm her, d'ye see.' Again H.M. poked at the eyes of the skull with the stem of his pipe. 'Here, don't hop about like that! Sit still. I don't want you to get the breeze up. In the strict sense o' the word, I don't think it was another murder; it was a piece of carelessness on Hogenauer's part. I tell you this because everybody's got an alibi for the time he died. But, burn me, there's one question you've got to answer if you want to keep out of trouble, and you answer it truthfully. You been in this house all evening. You been wanderin' about from room to room. Who was using the telephone, one of the telephones, at one-thirty this morning?'
Antrim slowly hammered the top of his fist against his forehead.
'One-thirty,' he repeated. 'Telephone. Yes. Certainly. I remember. I can tell you. It was that swine Serpos — Joseph Serpos. What's he done now?'
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Voice in the Parlour
Slowly, quietly, it had begun to rain. It was the light rain just before dawn, without violence or wind, which creeps out and fills the world with a drowsy rustling. We heard the rustle of the shower deepen, and run across the house, and splash in the laurels.
'This looks like business,' said H.M., also in a soft growl. Not once in some time had he gone off into his usual grousing: he had forgotten to do it: he was too occupied. 'Tell me about it.'
Antrim seemed uneasy. 'Not much to tell,' he protested. 'What's wrong? It was just at one-thirty. Don't ask me how I remember; but its stuck in my mind that that's when it was. I'd just come from the bathroom, and I was going on to my den. This was upstairs, of course. I was going along the upstairs hall, and I happened to glance down over the banisters. You can see if you go out into the hall — the telephone there is under the stairs. I looked down, and saw Serpos standing there, half under the stairs and half out in the hall, with the 'phone in his hand. He was sort of leaning and lounging (you know?), and he seemed to be talking close up against the 'phone, in a low voice. I couldn't hear what he said. But he seemed to be laughing a little. I thought it was damned cheek of him. I mean, just picking up my 'phone He'd been out in the dining-room, where they'd put him, drinking my whisky. But I didn't say anything.'
'Was there anybody else in the hall?'
'I didn't notice anybody. But then I couldn't see all of the downstairs hall.'
'Ho,' growled H.M. 'Look here, sergeant: where were you at one-thirty? You're usually supposed to be on guard in that hall. Where were you?'
Davis was perturbed. 'I don't remember, sir. I didn't keep much track of the time. I've been in and out, and on a couple of errands. But I couldn't have been in the hall then. If Serpos is that superior young gentleman who looks such a ruddy ass in the parson's outfit, I didn't see him using the telephone at any time. Mostly he's been out in the dining-room soaking up whisky.'
H.M. waved a big flipper towards Antrim, 'All right, son. That's all. Hop it.'
'But — '
'Hop it. Don't argue. You and your wife are goin' to have a whole lot to talk over. You'd better go up and see her straightaway.'
When Antrim was ultimately persuaded out of the room, Evelyn turned on H.M. in a sort of agony.
'Why don't you have Serpos in?' she cried. 'Why on earth don't you have him in and have a go at him? He's the most important figure in the case. You old devil, you've got something up your sleeve! I know you have. I can feel it, but I can't think what it is and it makes me mad.' She paused, brooding, and pushed up her full lower lip. 'Besides, there's another thing. So you didn't want to alarm poor Mrs. Antrim with news of the horrid murder, didn't you? Well, you jolly well didn't hesitate to alarm me with your corpses! You sent me to pick one up. Poor Mrs. Antrim, and bah to you.
'Now, now,' said H.M. soothingly. 'You. You bounce. You're all right. But Mrs. A. don't bounce the least bit. Point's this: you've now seen the second of the parade go past and you've heard his story. You've heard Antrim's tale of the phantom burglar. You've heard him, and it's now time to pass judgment. Guilty or not guilty?'
For a second we stood listening to the rain, each of us wondering what the others would say. It was Charters, thrusting out his bony face, who spoke-irritably. 'Not guilty,' said Charters. 'Not guilty,' said Evelyn. 'Not guilty,' said I.
'Well, Lord love-a-duck ' breathed H.M., craning round at us. His almost invisible eyebrows went up to join the wrinkles in his forehead. 'Burn me, but I don't understand your mental processes! Look here. First there comes in a gal who tells a straight story and also behaves in a way which appears to demonstrate her innocence pretty conclusively, to say nothing of showin' of her own accord that the burgled window is all eyewash. And Ken looks dubious, even though he votes her not guilty, and the Evelyn wench reserves judgment with ominous wags of her black cap. Next, there walks in a man who tells us a story amountin' to this; a burglar from outside has broken the catch of the window from inside, has raised a window which ordinarily sticks so much they can't usually raise it themselves, has done all this without any noise except a very faint crack, and, to cap it all, has commenced his house-breakin' almost as soon as Antrim has switched off a light upstairs. Oh, my eye. And no sooner do you hear it than you all triumphantly sing out, `Not guilty.' You too, Charters. Are you goin' to plead masculine intuition?'
'There has got to be such a thing as masculine intuition,' returned Charters with asperity, 'or nobody would ever succeed in business. Only, it's never talked about. It's taken for granted. And therefore I tell you that the look of that young fellow-'
'Here! You, of all people, aren't goin' to hold to the belief that a murderer always looks like a murderer?'
'I submit,' said Charters, 'that at least it's much more sensible than the detective-story belief that a murderer never looks like one. I think we've gone too far in the other direction. Yes, I know all the old outworn fallacies: Lombroso is nonsense, and there's no such thing as a criminal type. That's not quite what Lombroso said, by the way; but let it pass. In general, I agree. You or I or Blake or anyone might be a thief and a murderer. We might even be able to, fool the police. But, whatever we said to the police, we should never talk as Larry Antrim has talked to us to-night.'
'All of you like to get the old man in a corner, don't you?' asked H.M. querulously. 'Nothin' delights your souls more than to see me done again. Well, then, riddle me this. Dr.
A. says burglar. Mrs. A. says no burglar. Which of 'em lied?'
'Has it occurred to you,' said Charters, 'that neither of them lied? Suppose a burglar did get into the house-by some other window, or door, or something-and made those very obvious marks on a window in order to throw suspicion on the Antrims, and make us think that they made the marks themselves?'
H.M. regarded him with sour amusement.
'But,' he grunted, 'not one other door or window in this house bears any signs of havin' been tampered with. Oh, no. There's one other explanation, which 1–2' He reflected. 'Bowers is the feller we want! Burn me, why have you got to keep me waitin' like this? Fetch Bowers, somebody!'
