Seeing is Believing

'I'll say I do! I remember everything about that afternoon. What about it?'

'Oh, ah. You did carry it up, then?'

'Yes, of course. What about it?'

'And you didn't put it down anywhere? Or stop to talk to anybody? You just took it up, and handed it to the lady? Eh?'

If Frank's astonishment were assumed, Courtney thought, he must be among the first actors of the world. It was as though you could read every thought in the man's head.

'That's right. And you can add, if you like, that I stopped there and watched her while she ate it.' Enlightenment came to him. 'Oh! I get it! You're wondering whether the grapefruit might have had a bad effect, or a good effect, in bringing on the poison?'

'Something like that.'

'Well,' said Sharpless, drawing in his breath, 'if it had a good effect, I'm glad. And if it had a bad effect-well, that doesn't matter now, thanks to Sir Henry. I haven't thanked you properly, sir, for whatever it was you did the other night. But, by gad, if there's ever anything you want done for you: a little matter of a murder or anything like that: you just come to me. I'm your man.'

'Eee!' cried Mrs. Propper, and flounced up out of her chair like a pouncing owl.

H.M. saved the situation then by deliberately reaching behind Masters, unobserved, and pushing the kitchen clock off the shelf.

It was the sacrifice of a good clock, but it worked.

'She's upset, poor old girl,' observed Sharpless sympathetically, watching Mrs. Propper as she tried to conceal her emotion by a distracted examination of broken wheels and springs. 'I'm going up to see Vicky. Cheer-ho. See you later.' The swing-door closed.

'My poor little clock!' cried Mrs. «Propper. 'My nice little clock!'

Ann Browning spoke in a low, clear, firm voice.

'Sir Henry,' she said, 'that boy isn't guilty. You know it as well as I do.'

'Why is that man wearing his hat in my house?' demanded Mrs. Propper, gathering up the clock and pointing at Masters. 'I won't have him wearing his hat in our house.'

Holding himself under strong restraint, Masters walked — he almost tiptoed — to the door leading out into the back garden. He opened this, stood aside, and nodded to the others. H.M., Ann, and Courtney filed out. Masters followed them, and firmly closed the door.

Even the thick, close air outside was welcome after the air of die kitchen.

'Chief Inspector,' said Courtney, 'I didn't know I was speaking in prophecy. No offense is meant. But, as Ann said, you know as sure as you're born that Frank Sharpless never poisoned a grapefruit to give to Vicky Fane. And if Frank didn't do it, nobody else could have done it. So it follows that nobody could have poisoned the grapefruit.'

This was the wrong approach.

'No,' said Masters. 'And nobody could have exchanged the daggers either. But somebody smacking well did.'

He extended the palm of his left hand, and with dangerous quietness tapped the forefinger of his right-hand in it.

'Don't you see it's the same mess all over again? By our evidence, the only person who could have exchanged the daggers was Mrs. Fane. But she didn't do it, because she had the strongest motive not to. The only person who could have poisoned the grapefruit was Captain Sharpless. But he didn't do it, because he had the strongest motive not to. Oh, lummy, lead me to a lunatic asylum.'

Black clouds, edged with tarnished silver, shielded a sun which was still brilliant.

H.M. shook his head in slow and sour disbelief. He went over to inspect the dustbin, taking off the lid and replacing it with a clang. Then he pushed open the door of the garden shed, and thrust his big bald head inside. He disclosed nothing more than a lawn-mower, various rakes and shears, a short ladder, a wheelbarrow, and some beach-chairs.

'No!' he said.

'What do you mean, no?' Masters persisted.

'I mean it's not just the blinkin' awful cussedness of things in general. Not this time. It's design.'

A step stirred in the gravel path through the rose-garden. Hubert Fane, wearing a gray double-breasted suit, a decorous black tie, and a white rose in his buttonhole, emerged from the garden. The sunlight made his thin hair look like spun glass, and accentuated the slight hollows of his temples. Even his big nose had an air of serenity and benevolence. He carried a pair of shears.

'Good afternoon, my dear,' he said, smiling paternally on Ann. 'And to you, gentlemen. Chief Inspector Masters I know, but I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting, at least formally, Sir Henry Merrivale.'

'How-de-do,' said H.M. vaguely. 'Been gardening'

'If I have an amiable weakness,' replied Hubert, dropping the shears on the ground and dusting his hands with a silk handkerchief, 'it is for roses. Like Sergeant Cuff and Geek and other worthies of detective instincts, I —'

'Know anything about grapefruit?' Hubert stopped short.

'Not as a gardener. My only knowledge of grapefruit consists of the fact that I cordially dislike it, though my niece is fond of it and my nephew also favored it.'

'So? Arthur Fane liked grapefruit too?'

'Yes. Why do you ask?'

'Mrs. Fane took poison in grapefruit,' said H.M.

It was seldom possible to surprise Hubert. This almost did it. He remained motionless, a half-smile still on his face.

'Let me be quite clear about this,' he requested, after a pause. 'Are you attempting to tell me that my courageous but long-suffering niece was poisoned twice?'

'No. Only once. There was about three grains of strychnine in the grapefruit that Captain Sharpless carried up to her on Thursday afternoon.'

Hubert passed a hand over his smooth hair.

'Now there, my dear sir, permit me to point out that you are talking nonsense.'

'No nonsense about it. It's true. Witnesses: one stomach-pump, Dr. Nithsdale, one hospital orderly, me. Were you in the house when Sharpless took the grapefruit up to Mrs. Fane?'

'I was. I remember passing him in the hall. But—'

'Oh? Did you have any conversation with him?'

'Yes. The conversation was as follows. As I passed him I said, 'Grapefruit, eh?' To which he replied, 'Grapefruit,' and went on. Our conversation was distinguished neither for length nor for brilliance of repartee.'

'O temporal' said H.M. 'O mores! O hell!'

'Cicero,' observed Hubert, 'would seem, in this instance, less to the point than the Roman Sybil. Sir, you worry me. What is all this?'

H.M. was paying no attention. He was blinking owlishly at the rose-garden. The trellises supporting many of the roses were narrow, of very light wood, in diamond-shaped sections set one above the other, and painted white. Passing from his dour mood, H.M. regarded them with fascination.

'I suppose,' volunteered Hubert, 'you have come to have some conversations with Victoria?'

'That's the general idea, yes.'

'I feel a great interest, very naturally, in her welfare. The dear girl has kindly offered to let me stay on here until I can find a little place of my own. May I earnestly beg you not to worry or distress her with too many questions? She should not, in my opinion, be allowed to see anyone yet.'

'I agree with that, Sir Henry,' said Ann quickly. 'She's trying to do too much at once, and we don't want her to have a relapse. Please! You won't upset her, will you?'

'Oh, we'll be careful. It's only routine stuff, d'ye see, until she gets better.' He inflated his chest. 'Come along, Masters. We better get this over with.' He peered at Courtney and Ann. 'You want to come?'

'No, thanks,' the former replied with some fervency.

H.M. and Masters had just stumped into the house, with Hubert following them, and Ann had turned to