hair.
Seated in, and handcuffed to, a hardback chair off by himself was Shriman Vespal, looking haggard and gaunt, dark circles under his darker eyes. His frown was one of deep disapproval and injured self-righteousness.
'I've gathered you all together,' Motherwell said, 'in order to get to the bottom of all this business. There is a killer loose, and one of you is that killer. And frankly, I'm baffled. I'm convinced you're all in on this. All of you! But I'm stymied. I'm a native here, however. I may be too close to things for my own good. I know each and every one of you, either personally or through reputation. But I wonder what an objective eye would see. I wonder how you would all look to a total stranger. We have such a stranger in our midst. Our new neighbor, Lord Peter Thaxton.'
'I was under the impression,' said Mr. Jamie Thripps, 'that the Throckmortons bought the Durwick place.'
'Never you mind your impressions, Mr. Thripps,' Motherwell said. 'Lord Peter? Have you any observations to make?'
'If you don't mind, Inspector Motherwell.'
'Don't mind at all,' Motherwell said. 'I've half a notion to run the lot of them in.'
Lord Peter rose and began to walk the half-circle of suspects, dressing each one down, sizing him or her up. 'Yes, one of you is a murderer. Not once, but four times over. Is it you, Mrs. Thripps?'
Amanda Thripps gave a devil-may-care laugh.
'You think it a laughing matter, do you? You had a strong motive for slipping into Lady Fesstleton's study and bashing her head in with the poker.'
'Oh?' Amanda scoffed. 'And what was that?'
'You thought she'd killed her husband, your lover.'
'Nonsense. I thought nothing of the sort.'
'No?'
'No. Besides, I have an alibi. At the time of the murder I was here, in this room, with Sir Laurence and Humphrey.'
'Both of whom are dead now, I'm afraid. We do have a record of their testimony, but they could have been covering for you. You were on familiar terms with both of them.'
'What if I was? It's nonsense.'
Thaxton seemed dissatisfied with this line of attack. He moved on.
'Mr. Ballifants!'
'Yes?' Geoffrey Ballifants was a bald, gnomish man with thick spectacles. He was smoking a brown-papered foreign cigarette, and held it oddly between his third and fourth fingers.
'You stand to inherit your half-sister's income when this is all over. Quite a motive there.'
Ballifants nodded. 'Quite. But I didn't kill Honoria. Though I did hate her bloody guts.'
'So you admit you bore a grudge against her?'
Ballifants made a dismissing motion with the cigarette hand. 'Everyone knows it. She was a witch, and I'm glad she's dead.'
A murmur went up from the staff. It seemed like a murmur of agreement.
Thaxton grumbled something before moving on to Horace Grimsby.
'And you, Mr. Grimsby. You know quite well you are suspected of blackmail.'
'I want to talk to my solicitor!' shouted Horace Grimsby, a thin, black-haired, and very nervous gentleman.
'You'll be afforded every legal right,' Motherwell assured him.
'This is a sham!'
The outburst came from Clarence Wicklow, who was on his feet.
'Ah, Mr. Wicklow,' Thaxton said. 'That was quite a performance you put on last night. You were very convincingly shocked at Mr. Thayne-Chetwynde's hanging.'
'Of course I was! This is outrageous. A travesty!'
'How so?'
'I'm under suspicion. So are a lot of us. But it's been a very selective process!'
'Interesting observation. May I ask how you came to this conclusion?'
Wicklow pointed an accusatory finger. 'Who the bloody hell are you to be coming around here, asking questions? Nobody knows you. `Lord Peter,' my foot. How do we know you really have a title?'
Thaxton's eyes shifted. 'I assure you, the title came from the crown. Not… er, well, I shan't go into details, but…'
'How do we know you and your friend Dalton aren't the murderers? Nobody's brought up that possibility, which I find not at all unlikely!'
'Wait half a minute,' Thaxton said.
'And what about Petheridge?' Grimsby said.
'What about me?' the colonel said indignantly, rousing himself out of a semidoze.
'Well, you do seem rather immune to suspicion, I must say,' Grimsby complained.
'Yes, quite,' Wicklow agreed. 'His alibi involves Lord Peter and Dalton, and there's no one here who can vouch for either of them!'
Petheridge rose and took away his monocle. 'See here, Wicklow. Are you doubting my word?'
'Your story seems rather fishy to me,' Wicklow sneered. 'You could have shot the earl. And then you wouldn't have to make good on all those gambling debts you owed his lordship.'
Petheridge's features darkened. 'You… bastard!'
'Shoe's on the other foot now, isn't it, Petheridge? And wasn't it you who had every reason to kill Honoria, who possibly saw you commit the deed?'
'That's ridiculous!' Thaxton said. 'The colonel couldn't have killed Honoria. As to Lord Festleton, he-' Thaxton broke off, shocked by the realization that there was indeed no good reason why Petheridge could not have shot the earl. He was perplexed as to why he had never thought of the possibility before. But his meditations were shattered by a loud report.
Thaxton jumped. He slowly turned to stare unbelievingly at Petheridge, who was holding a smoking revolver. Wicklow toppled to the floor, a neat red spot on his shirt, directly over the heart. A few of the maids screamed. 'Topping shot, that,' said Petheridge. 'If I do say so myself.'
Motherwell stood up from examining the fallen man. 'Killing shot, you mean. He's quite gone.'
'Serves him right, the blighter,' Petheridge said. 'Accusing me like that. I won't stand for it.'
Thaxton was tongued-tied. He kept alternating his disbelieving gaze between the colonel and his victim. 'You… you…'
'Eh, what?' Petheridge put the revolver back in his pocket. 'Speak up, old man.'
'You… killed him!'
'Bloody perceptive of you.' The colonel sat down and crossed his legs. He appeared quite composed.
'No mystery about this one,' Motherwell said. 'Well, my lord, if you will continue?'
'I beg your pardon?'
'Please continue. With your interrogation.'
Thaxton was astonished. 'You mean… go on with the-Aren't you going to do anything?'
'About what?'
'Good God, man. You mean to say you won't arrest the colonel?'
'Oh, that,' Motherwell said. 'Well, there was provocation.'
'Provocation?'
'Yes, Wicklow was making wild charges. You do still maintain that the colonel was with you when the shots were fired?'
'Wait a minute. We never said that. I said that he was with us when we discovered the body. As a matter of fact-' Thaxton turned toward Petheridge.
Petheridge's small eyes coolly regarded him.
Thaxton looked away. 'Well, I… I must be mistaken. Uh-'
'Please continue, my lord.'
