the corridor, Miss Bennett admonished Cadwallader. 'You're not to worry him,' she said. She came back into the room. 'You're not to worry the boy,' she ordered the inspector. 'He's very easily – unsettled. He gets excited, temperamental.'
The inspector regarded her silently for a moment, and then asked, 'Is he ever violent?'
'No, of course not. He's a very sweet boy, very gentle. Docile, really. I simply meant that you might upset him. It's not good for children, things like murder. And that's all he is, really. A child.'
The inspector sat in the chair at the desk. 'You needn't worry, Miss Bennett, I assure you,' he told her. 'We quite understand the position.'
CHAPTER NINE
Just then Sergeant, Cadwallader ushered in Jan, who rushed up to the inspector. 'Do you want me?' he cried excitedly. 'Have you caught him yet? Will there be blood on his clothes?'
'Now, Jan,' Miss Bennett cautioned him, 'you must behave yourself. Just answer any questions the gentleman asks you.'
Jan turned happily to Miss Bennett, and then back to the inspector. 'Oh, yes, I will,' he promised. 'But can't I ask any questions?'
'Of course you can ask questions,' the inspector assured him kindly.
Miss Bennett sat on the sofa. 'I'll wait while you're talking to him,' she said.
The inspector got up quickly, went to the door and opened it invitingly. 'No thank you. Miss Bennett,' he said firmly. 'We shan't need you. And didn't you say you're rather busy this morning?'
'I'd rather stay,' she insisted.
'I'm sorry.' The inspector's voice was sharp. 'We always like to talk to people one at a time.'
Miss Bennett looked at the inspector and then at Sergeant Cadwallader. Realizing that she was defeated, she gave a snort of annoyance and swept out of the room, the inspector closing the door after her. The sergeant moved to the alcove, preparing to take more notes, while Inspector Thomas sat on the sofa. 'I don't suppose,' he said amiably to Jan, 'that you've ever been in close contact with a murder before, have you?'
'No, no, I haven't,' Jan replied eagerly. 'It's very exciting, isn't it?' He knelt on the footstool. 'Have you got any clues – fingerprints or bloodstains or anything?'
'You seem very interested in blood,' the inspector observed with a friendly smile.
'Oh, I am,' Jan replied, quietly and seriously. 'I like blood. It's a beautiful colour, isn't it? That nice clear red.' He too sat down on the sofa, laughing nervously. 'Richard shot things, you know, and then they used to bleed. It's really very funny, isn't it? I mean it's funny that Richard, who was always shooting things, should have been shot himself. Don't you think that's funny?'
The inspector's voice was quiet, his inflection rather dry, as he replied, 'I suppose it has its humorous side.' He paused. 'Are you very upset that your brother – your half-brother, I mean – is dead?'
'Upset?' Jan sounded surprised. 'That Richard is dead? No, why should I be?'
'Well, I thought perhaps you were – very fond of him,' the inspector suggested.
'Fond of him!' exclaimed Jan in what sounded like genuine astonishment. 'Fond of Richard? Oh, no, nobody could be fond of Richard.'
'I suppose his wife was fond of him, though,' the inspector urged.
A look of surprise passed across Jan's face. 'Laura?' he exclaimed. 'No, I don't think so. She was always on my side.'
'On your side?' the inspector asked. 'What does that mean, exactly?'
Jan suddenly looked scared. 'Yes. Yes,' he almost shouted, hurriedly. 'When Richard wanted to have me sent away.'
'Sent away?' the inspector prompted him gently.
'To one of those places,' the youngster explained. 'You know, where they send you, and you're locked up, and you can't get out. He said Laura would come and see me, perhaps, sometimes.' Jan shook a little, then rose, backed away from the inspector, and looked across at Sergeant Cadwallader. 'I wouldn't like to be locked up,' he continued, his voice now tremulous. 'I'd hate to be locked up.'
He stood at the french windows, looking out onto the terrace. 'I like things open, always,' he called out to them. 'I like my window open, and my door, so that I can be sure I can get out.' He turned back into the room. 'But nobody can lock me up now, can they?'
'No, lad,' the inspector assured him. 'I shouldn't think so.'
'Not now that Richard's dead,' Jan added. Momentarily, he sounded almost smug.
The inspector got up and moved round the sofa. 'So Richard wanted you locked up?' he asked.
'Laura says he only said it to tease me,' Jan told him. 'She said that was all it was, and she said it was all right, and that as long as she was here she'd make quite sure that I would never be locked up.' He went to perch on one arm of the armchair. 'I love Laura,' he continued, speaking with a nervous excitement. 'I love Laura a terrible lot. We have wonderful times together, you know. We look for butterflies and birds' eggs, and we play games together. Bezique. Do you know that game? It's a clever one. And Beggar-my-neighbour. Oh, it's great fun doing things with Laura.'
The inspector went across to lean on the other arm of the chair. His voice had a kindly tone to it as he asked, 'I don't suppose you remember anything about this accident that happened when you were living in Norfolk , do you? When a little boy got run over?'
'Oh, yes, I remember that,' Jan replied quite cheerfully. 'Richard went to the inquest.'
'Yes, that's right. What else do you remember?' the inspector encouraged him.
'We had salmon for lunch that day,' Jan said immediately. 'Richard and Warby came back together. Warby was a bit flustered, but Richard was laughing.'
'Warby?' the inspector queried. 'Is that Nurse Warburton?'
'Yes, Warby. I didn't like her much. But Richard was so pleased with her that day that he kept saying, 'Jolly good show, Warby.''
The door suddenly opened, and Laura Warwick appeared. Sergeant Cadwallader went across to her, and Jan called out, 'Hello, Laura.'
'Am I interrupting?' Laura asked the inspector.
'No, of course not, Mrs Warwick,' he replied. 'Do sit down, won't you?'
Laura came further into the room, and the sergeant shut the door behind her. 'Is – is Jan – ?' Laura began. She paused.
'I'm just asking him,' the inspector explained, 'if he remembers anything about that accident to the boy in Norfolk . The MacGregor boy.'
Laura sat at the end of the sofa. 'Do you remember, Jan?' she asked him.
'Of course I remember,' the lad replied, eagerly. 'I remember everything.' He turned to the inspector. 'I've told you, haven't I?' he asked.
The inspector did not reply to him directly. Instead, he moved slowly to the sofa and, addressing Laura Warwick, asked, 'What do you know about the accident, Mrs Warwick? Was it discussed at luncheon that day, when your husband came back from the inquest?'
'I don't remember,' Laura replied immediately.
Jan rose quickly and moved towards her. 'Oh, yes, you do, Laura, surely,' he reminded her. 'Don't you remember Richard saying that one brat more or less in the world didn't make any difference?'
Laura rose. 'Please –' she implored the inspector.
'It's quite all right, Mrs Warwick,' Inspector Thomas assured her gently. 'It's important, you know, that we get at the truth of that accident. After all, presumably it's the motive for what happened here last night.'
'Oh yes,' she sighed. 'I know. I know.'
'According to your mother-in-law,' the inspector continued, 'your husband had been drinking that day.'
'I expect he had,' Laura admitted. 'It – it wouldn't surprise me.'
The inspector moved to sit at the end of the sofa. 'Did you actually see or meet this man, MacGregor?' he
