Seeing is Believing

'No, not yet,' admitted H.M. He chortled. 'But, oh, my eye, is it goin' to be juicy when I do!'

'I warn you, sir—!'

The young man interposed smoothly. 'If I were you, Chief Inspector,' he suggested, 'I shouldn't trouble. We've done roughly forty-eight thousand words, and he's just into his eleventh year. If he's got anything against you, I should begin to worry about it round about next Christmas.'

H.M. pointed with a putter.

'I got a suspicion,' he said, 'a very strong suspicion, that that blighter there is always on the edge of making smart cracks at me. But he's got a cast-iron face. I'm serious about this book. It's goin' to be an important social and political document. You.' He leered round at Ann Browning. 'Were you laughin' at me:

The girl took her hands away from her face.

'You know I wouldn't do that,' she assured him, with such apparent sincerity that he subsided. 'But Mr. Courtney's fingers must be numb by this time. Why don't you take a breather so that the chief inspector can tell you what he's come to tell you?'

Masters stiffened.

'Morning, miss,' he said noncommittally, but with a significant glance at H.M. He looked at Courtney. 'Morning, sir.'

H.M. performed introductions.

'This gal,' he added, 'is Race's protegee. She's been given instructions to stick to me, so there's nothing you can do about it, son.'

Masters regarded Ann with a quickening of interest.

'And is also (eh?) the young lady who was present at that business last night? Glad to hear it, miss! You're the only person concerned I haven't had a word with yet.'

H.M. blinked.

'So? That's quick work, ain't it, Masters?'

'Four o'clock in the afternoon, sir. If you don't mind my pointing it out.'

'Now, now. Less of the heavy copper stuff, son. What have you been up to?'

Masters inhaled a mighty breath.

'I've talked to Agnew, and read through his notes. I've had a word with Mrs. Fane, Captain Sharpless, Mr. Hubert Fane, Dr. Rich, the maid, and the cook. I've been carefully over that sitting room where the murder was done.' 'And?'

'You,' suggested Masters pointedly, 'tell me.'

H.M. cast down the putter. He went to the porch and returned carrying two beach-chairs. These, after a struggle vaguely suggesting Laocoon, in which the chairs folded into shapes even more incomprehensible than is their usual custom, he managed to set straight for Masters and himself.

'It's like this,' the chief inspector continued, — putting his hat down on the grass. 'If only these people wouldn't be so ruddy pat with their stories! If only they wouldn't all swear they saw each other all the time! If only—' He stopped, remembering that he was speaking in front of one of them.

'It's perfectly true, though,' Ann assured him.

Masters craned round. His tone grew confidential.

'Come, now, miss! Just among ourselves. How can you be so sure of that?'

'Because four of us then were sitting as close together as the four of us are here now. With Dr. Rich in the middle, like this.'

Ann reached out after the putter, and stood it up in the middle to represent Rich.

'The bridge lamp was shining down directly on us. The table was at least twelve feet away—'

'Just twelve feet,' said Masters. 'I measured it.'

'And the circle wasn't broken,' concluded Ann. 'The only one who ever went near the table was Arthur Fane himself.'

'I say, Masters,' interposed H.M., who was leaning back in the beach-chair and had his revolting hat tilted over his spectacles. 'What's your notion of the suggestion that somebody sneaked in by way of the door or the windows?'

Masters hesitated.

'Go on, son! Speak up.'

'Well, sir, I say I'm smacking well certain nobody did. It's not just that I take the word of the people in the room, though I can see what they tell me is reasonable enough. But — as regards the door — I've got an independent witness.'

'A witness? Who?'

'Daisy Fenton, the maid.'

Masters took out his notebook.

'Now, this girl Daisy had been curious, real hot-and-bothered curious, about what was being done that night. She knew there was some hypnotism game going on, but she didn't know what. Any girl would be curious, I expect. So, from the time that crowd went into the back sitting room after dinner to the time Mr. Fane was stabbed, Daisy never left the front hall.'

'Wow!' said H.M.

Masters nodded grimly. 'Just so, sir.' 'But-'

'Stop a bit, now. Daisy hung about the hall. A little later, she saw Mrs. Fane come out of the sitting room for that part where Mrs. Fane was asked to go out, like a guessing game.

''Daisy shied back into the dining-room door, where it was dark, and waited. She says Mrs. Fane listened at the door, which wasn't quite caught, until somebody closed it from inside. Then after a few minutes Dr. Rich opened it, and invited Mrs. Fane back in. All just as we've heard.

'Back went Daisy to her post in the hall. A little while after this, the front doorbell rang. It was a bookie named MacDonald, asking to see Mr. Hubert Fane. Daisy tried to send him away, but he wasn't having any. So down she went to the sitting room, and fetched out Mr. Hubert Fane.'

Masters paused, clearing his throat.

The late afternoon sun blazed on his forehead. To

Courtney, the scene last night unfolded in vivid colors, even though he had not seen it.

'Mr. Hubert Fane came out, and spoke to the bookie on the front steps. They were arguing about something — Daisy could see 'em all the time — while Daisy remained where she was, in the hall, with one ear on the door.'

H.M., who had been breathing as though in sleep under the hat, here opened one eye.

'Hold on, son! Wasn't she afraid old Hubert might get shirty if he saw her hangin' about obviously listening at door?'

Masters shook his head.

'No. She says she knew he wouldn't say anything to her. She says he never does. She says—' Masters' tone took on a note of heavy mimicry—'she says he's 'such a dear old gentleman.' '

'Uh-huh. Go on.'

'Mr. Hubert Fane finished his talk with the bookie, and came back into the hall. He walked into the dining room, took a nip of brandy off the sideboard (as I'm told his habit is), walked straight back again to the sitting-room door, and opened it just about ten seconds after Mr. Arthur Fane was stabbed. In other words, he's got every bit as good an alibi as anybody in that room.'

Masters shut up his notebook with a slap.

'But the important thing (eh?) is Daisy's testimony. She swears — and so help me, sir, I don't see any reason to doubt her — that nobody could have sneaked past her while she was there. And that's our witness. It washes out the door.'

'Yes. I was afraid of that.'

'Do you agree, Sir Henry, or don't you?'

H.M. groaned.

'All right, son. I agree. What about the windows?' 'I gave those windows a good going-over. Under them