Courtney, on the point of intimating that this was the craziest idea which even H.M. appeared to have had so far, checked himself and thought of Frank Sharpless. After all, why not?
'But I can't go barging in there!'
'You can,' replied H.M. simply, 'if you're with me. Colonel Race says his secretary's there. Gal named Ann Browning. Race says this gal's got her headpiece screwed on right, and knows a thing or two. That's all eyewash, naturally. There never was a woman who was any ruddy good as a secretary; except my Lolly-pop, of course, and she's different. But it might be interest-in' to see what this gal says.'
'Well-'
'Get your hat,' glared H.M., 'and come on.'
Courtney did not have a hat. But, as H.M. took a Panama of regrettable design from the hat-rack, he followed the lumbering figure down the hall into a hot, silver, moonlight night.
Passers-by in the elm-shaded street might have been startled by a voice which marched beneath the elms. It was a strange, throaty, self-conscious voice, like that of a prophet in a trance or a ventriloquist talking bass.
'I will now,' it suddenly announced, 'give my readers some idea of the political situation as it existed between the years 1870 and 1880; and of the close attention with which I followed it even then.'
Seven
'Over here,' said Frank Sharpless, pointing. 'Put her down on the bed.'
Whatever he had thought he might be doing at ten-thirty that night, Courtney had not imagined that he would be carrying the body of an unconscious woman upstairs in a strange house, while the police muttered below.
But he was.
When he and H.M. arrived at the square white house, whose unfortunate name, 'The Nest,' was woven into the ironwork of the gate, they saw that the front door stood open and a light burned in the hall.
Sharpless, bearing in his arms a limp figure in a violet full-sleeved and full-skirted gown, stood in the hall arguing with an inspector of police from the Gloucestershire County Constabulary.
'She can't run away,' Sharpless was insisting. 'At least let me take her upstairs and make her comfortable.'
The inspector hesitated.
'Very well, sir. But come down again straightaway; you understand?' He turned to the newcomers. 'You'll be Sir Henry Merrivale, no doubt?' At H.M.'s nod he saluted. 'Inspector Agnew here. Colonel Race told me to look out for you. Will you come this way, sir?'
The plan of the house was simple. It consisted of two long rooms on either side of the hall: front and back drawing room to the left, with a kitchen built out at the rear. Inspector Agnew's gesture indicated the library. From the back drawing room came a murmur of voices.
'I'm not,' H.M. said sharply, 'goin' to question anybody tonight. That can wait till tomorrow, when Masters gets here. But I'd like to hear a little more about it from you, son. Lead on.'
'Phil,' said Sharpless quickly, 'stay here with me for a minute.'
H.M., after giving assent to this with a nod and a sharp glance, followed Inspector Agnew into the library. Courtney was left with Sharpless and his charge. If Sharpless felt any surprise at seeing his friend there, he did not show it.
'Take Vicky,' he ordered. 'I'll lead the way.'
She was attractive, Courtney thought. Damned attractive. Clumsify, and with some embarrassment, he carried her upstairs while Sharpless went ahead turning on lights.
The upper floor, built on a similar plan to the one below, consisted of six bedrooms and two bathrooms. Sharpless opened doors and tested lights until he found what was evidently Arthur and Vicky Fane's room — a spacious room at the front, on the right-hand side facing forward.
It was a pleasant bedroom, though its mixture of masculine and feminine tastes warred badly. A small white stone balcony over-looked the front lawn. The furniture was maplewood, the fitted carpet brown, the curtains old rose.
'Over here,' said Sharpless. 'Put her down on the bed.'
He closed the door as Courtney did so, and they looked at each other.
'Frank,' Courtney began, 'in the name of—!' 'Sh-h!'
'Yes, but what's going on here? What did she do? If she's fainted, why not slosh some water on her and bring her round?'
Sharpless told him. A clock ticked on the table beside the bed; a bedside lamp, its shade of some pinkish glassy material over a mirror base, shed calm light on Vicky Fane's emotionless face; and a faint breeze stirred in the trees of the front lawn, moving the curtains. Sharpless neglected no detail of the story, while his companion stared.
'Look here, Frank, are you all mad?'
'No.'
'You all swear none of you could have exchanged the real dagger for the rubber one?' 'That's right.'
'And yet you also know nobody could have come in from outside to do it!'
'Abo right. I proved it myself.'
'Then,' declared Courtney, 'all I can say is you'd better begin to unprove it, and ruddy quick too.'
'Oh? Why?'
'Man alive, listen! Get the fog out of your brain and think! Do you still love this girl?'
To answer this properly, it appeared, would require so many fervent words that Sharpless did not even try. He went over to the bed and pressed one of Vicky's hands.
'All right,' said Courtney. 'And she's yours now; had you realized it? Her husband's dead. That's motive. M-o- t-i-v-e, motive. If you prove that someone must have crept in from outside, that's fine. You're safe and clear. But if the police ever get the idea it must have been somebody in the room…'
Sharpless dropped Vicky's hand, and slowly turned round.
'So help me, Harry,' he announced, driving his right fist into the palm of his other hand. 'I never thought of it.'
'Then you'd better begin to think of it.'
'But why? Curse it all, they can't suspect me — or Rich or the Browning girl either, if it comes to that. We've got alibis like stone houses.'
'You're sure of that?'
'Definitely.'
'Well, just see you keep hammering it home to the police, that's all. Look here. Strictly between ourselves, yoit didn't…?'
A curious smile traveled across Sharpless's face, having the equally curious effect of making him look older.
'No,' he returned. 'Besides, how did I do it? I'm no ghost or genius, whatever my superiors in the Royal Engineers may think.'' He consulted his wrist-watch. 'Phil, I've got to get downstairs again, or the inspector will be kicking up a row. You stay here with her, will you?'
The hair rose on Courtney's conservative scalp. 'I can't stay here!'
'Oh, yes you can. And you're going to.' Sharpless grew desperately serious. 'Listen to me. You were very ha- ha this morning about my psychic fit. But there
'Rubbish! You don't think anybody would try to-?'
'I was right once, and I can be right again. For the love of Mike don't make objections. It's not very much I'm asking you to do, is it? Just to stay here until I come up again? Then can't you be a decent bloke and oblige me for once?' 'All right, all right.'
'Thanks. And now,' said Sharpless, straightening the wings of his tie, 'for more of the inquisition. I'll try not to
