Chapter VI“Now,” said Freddie Stickney, “I think we can begin.”He had been as good as his word. Each guest had been approached by him apart from the rest; and the appropriate hint, insinuation, or appeal, had been skilfully employed. They had all come, willingly or not, and Freddie had them at his mercy. His beady little eyes, bright as those of a mouse, glanced from face to face in an attempt to read the expressions. Already, he judged, most of them were uncomfortable; and the production of discomfort was Freddie’s strong card. He cleared his throat gently in preparation for his opening statement of the case as he saw it; but just at that moment the door clicked and Westenhanger stepped into the room.“Look here, Westenhanger, you can’t come in just now,” protested Freddie, who augured little good from the engineer’s presence. “This is a private affair.”Westenhanger stared at him with admirably acted surprise.“Are you getting up a charade to amuse the Dangerfield family, or something like that? I don’t think much of the notion, but I’m quite game to join if all the rest of you are in it. Go ahead; don’t let me interrupt.”He selected a chair near Eileen Cressage and sat down. Freddie bit his lip in vexation. Westenhanger’s entrance had taken him aback; he had not bargained for the presence of anyone except those who came under suspicion. For a moment he thought of arguing the point and contesting Westenhanger’s right to be there at all; but a glance at the engineer’s face showed him the uselessness of any such attempt. Quite obviously Westenhanger meant to sit through the business.“Get on with it, Freddie,” directed Douglas Fairmile, impatiently. “You can’t expect us to sit here all night merely to look at you, can you?”Freddie cleared his throat again, and launched into his exposition; but the two interruptions had flustered him a little and he failed to make his points tell as heavily as he had hoped.“You all know the Dangerfield Talisman’s disappeared. The burglar alarms were all found correctly set in the morning, so obviously nobody could have got into the house from the outside. That limits the thing down to the people in the house. I think that’s plain.”“Quite plain,” commented Westenhanger. “Self-evident, in fact. Proceed, Freddie.”“The inmates of the house can be divided into three . . .”“Just like ancient Gaul, eh?” Douglas explained.Freddie scowled at the interruption and repeated his phrases.“The inmates can be divided into three groups. First, there’s the Dangerfields themselves; second, the servants; third, the guests—ourselves. The Dangerfields don’t come into the matter. There’s no reason why any of them should take away the Talisman. Then it’s a fact that none of the servants can be suspected. At least, so the Dangerfields say, and they ought to know. That leaves ourselves. One of us must have taken it.”He glanced round the group in the hope that, even at this early stage in the inquiry, someone might betray himself. Morchard was leaning back in his chair, lazily following the movement of a smoke-ring which he had blown by accident. Mrs. Caistor Scorton was obviously bored. Nina and Cynthia were trying to repress smiles—evidently the results of some whispered aside by Douglas which Freddie had failed to catch. As for Wraxall, even an expert poker-player could have made nothing of his inscrutable mask. Eileen Cressage looked white and tired; and there was something in her face that encouraged Freddie to think that here he had found the weak point in the circle. Quite evidently she dreaded something to come, but she seemed to be hoping that the danger might yet be averted. Westenhanger, of course, showed nothing, since he was the solitary individual whose innocence was beyond doubt.“Now there are two possible explanations of the Talisman’s disappearance,” Freddie continued. “One is, that it’s due to a practical joke. We all know how the Dangerfields boast about taking no precautions with the Talisman. Somebody here may have wanted to give them a lesson about that. That’s a possibility. But if that’s the explanation, I think we have something to say. Joke or no joke, the thing’s gone, and until it turns up again, every one of us is under suspicion of theft. Everyone of us!”He glanced round the faces once more, but still no one betrayed any definite sign of guilt. Eileen Cressage’s expression puzzled him. She looked up and caught his eyes for a moment, but it was he who turned away first, so manifest was the dislike in her glance. Quite evidently the girl had something to conceal, and Freddie grew more determined to bring it to light, whatever it was.“Just a moment, Mr. Stickney!” the American interrupted as Freddie was about to continue. “Let’s be accurate, ifyouplease. You said ‘Everyone of us.’ That’s not correct. Mr. Westenhanger can’t be included. He couldn’t have had any hand in the affair, on your own showing.”The engineer acknowledged the American’s statement with a quick smile. Wraxall, evidently, was a kindred spirit, bent on spoiling Freddie’s little effects.“Very well,” snapped Freddie. “Then it’s one of us here, excluding Westenhanger.”Rather to Westenhanger’s surprise, Morchard joined the critics.“Wrong again,” he declared, weightily. “Mrs. Brent was in the house that night; and she isn’t here. I agree with Mr. Wraxall. Let’s be accurate.”“Well, well,” snarled Freddie, “have it as you like. The main point is that everyone here, bar one, is under suspicion. And whether it’s a practical joke or not, it looks like plain theft. And that’s a very unpleasant business, very unpleasant to us all—to myself at any rate. It’s very unfair. And if this thing isn’t cleared up as soon as possible it’ll leave a permanent stain on our characters. You know how people talk.”“I hear you, Freddie,” interjected Douglas, and Freddie was annoyed to see Nina Lindale’s lips twitch in a repressed smile.“It’s no laughing matter,” he said, indignantly. “Far from it. Somebody in Friocksheim took the Talisman, that’s certain. Now all I suggest is that we should each voluntarily account for our time during the period when the thing was stolen. That’s no hardship to anyone. I’m quite glad to do it myself; and I’m sure everyone else in my position will be just as glad. If anyone here took the Talisman, let him say so now and we won’t need to go any further.”He fixed his eye on Douglas Fairmile as he spoke, more by accident than design.“Meaning me?” inquired Douglas. “Try again, doggie. You’re barking up the wrong tree. I never touched the thing in my life.”Freddie ignored the interruption.“Nobody admits they did it as a joke?” he demanded. “Then it’s much worse. It’s theft, pure and simple. We owe it to ourselves to clear the thing up. At any rate, that’s my view, and I think it will be the view of everybody in my position to-night.”To Freddie’s surprise Morchard came to his assistance.“There’s something in that,” he admitted. “I doubt if it’ll lead to anything; but since the thing’s been allowed to go so far, I don’t see any harm in letting anyone who wishes it, do as you suggest.”Freddie, looking at Eileen Cressage, saw her shoot a glance at Morchard; but as she turned her head to do so, he could not see her expression. When she turned back again he had no difficulty in reading consternation in her face. She detected that he was watching her and endeavoured, with very little success, to assume an indifferent attitude. Westenhanger also had caught the by-play, and his face clouded.“Suppose you begin, then,” Freddie suggested to Morchard.Morchard seemed rather annoyed at being directly attacked, but he gave a nod of acquiescence.“Most of us went upstairs together, you remember. That would be about a quarter to twelve or so. I didn’t look at my watch, so I can’t make it closer. Anyway, it must have been about then. We’ve always been pretty early at Friocksheim. Then I undressed and went to bed—midnight, say. And I woke up as usual in the morning. That’s all. Help you much, Stickney?”Freddie ignored the query and glanced round to see if anyone else would volunteer. Mrs. Caistor Scorton sat up in her chair.“I went to my room as usual—about a quarter to twelve, as Mr. Morchard says. Some people came up a little later. I heard steps in the corridor and the sounds of doors shutting. There was some talking in low voices and more doors shut. Then the whole house was quiet. I looked out of the window for a short time, wondering if the storm was coming at last. Then I heard a noise as if someone had stumbled on the mat outside my door. I opened the door quietly and looked out. It was Miss Cressage. She was carrying a lighted candle and by the time I got the door open she was a good distance down the passage. I didn’t call after her, but just shut my door again. I looked at my watch to see how late it was, and I remember it was a quarter past twelve. After a time I undressed and went to bed. The next thing I can remember is waking up as usual.”Westenhanger was completely taken aback by this evidence. What could a girl be doing, wandering about the house at that time of night? Almost without thinking, he swung round on Mrs. Caistor Scorton and put a question.“You’re sure it was Miss Cressage?”“Quite sure,” said Mrs. Caistor Scorton, composedly. “She was wearing her dressing-gown and bedroom slippers. No one else has a silk dressing-gown of that shade.”Eileen Cressage had gone very white during Mrs. Caistor Scorton’s evidence, but she made no comment. Westenhanger, looking at her momentarily, saw that she had been completely surprised. At the same time, her attitude suggested that she might have something in reserve though she was not very confident about it. Freddie Stickney in his turn put a question to Mrs. Caistor Scorton.“You said she was ‘going down the passage.’ What does that mean?”“Miss Cressage’s room is beyond mine. She was going away from it when I saw her.”“Oh, I see,” said Freddie. “You mean that she was going along the corridor in the direction of the bachelor’s wing?”Westenhanger saw Eileen start in her chair at this elucidation by Freddie, but she evidently held herself in with an almost physical effort.“Why on earth doesn’t she say something?” he wondered to himself. “I’d stake my money that she’s straight, and yet she lets that little swine go on unchecked with his insinuations. I can’t understand it.”Whether she wished it or not, Mrs. Caistor Scorton had changed the whole atmosphere. Up to the moment when she began to speak, the affair had been handled in an almost frivolous spirit. Freddie Stickney had been making a fool of himself, and no one liked him sufficiently to feel troubled by that aspect of the matter. Even the Talisman theft had not weighed over heavily as a personal thing, for nobody had any formulated suspicions in his mind. But Mrs. Caistor Scorton, in half a dozen sentences, had brought them face to face with a new problem, and the silence of the girl made it difficult to find innocuous explanations. Something ugly had reared up in the midst of what, to most of them, had been little more than a joke. Eileen’s white, strained face, and her attitude of a creature at bay, had taken away all humour from the situation. Freddie Stickney had achieved a masterpiece in the creation of discomfort. Westenhanger could see Douglas Fairmile’s face, and in its expression he read the twin of his own feelings.The American broke the silence, before its awkwardness grew too obvious.“You mean that Miss Cressage was going towards the head of the main stair-case, I suppose?”Mrs. Caistor Scorton nodded without speaking.“I understand it better when it’s put in that way,” said Wraxall, bluntly.Eileen Cressage threw him a glance in which Westenhanger recognised gratitude. The American had taken the edge off the situation, to some extent, by his intervention. But a moment’s reflection showed Westenhanger that Wraxall had merely turned the matter into a fresh and difficult channel. Down the stair-case was the way to the Corinthian’s Room and the Talisman.Before anyone else could interpose comments, Wraxall again threw himself into the breach:“My tale’s more elaborate than these two. It’ll take longer to tell, I expect. I went upstairs to bed with the rest of the party, but I didn’t undress just then. I felt that storm coming up, and I like storms. I wouldn’t miss one. So I just sat at my window. My room’s the second on the corridor in the bachelor’s wing, as you go along from the stair-case. Yours is the first, isn’t it, Mr. Westenhanger?”“Yes, I’m next you.”“Your room was empty, that night, so anyone going along the corridor had to pass my door before they got to any other room. I was wide awake, at my window. I’ve pretty sharp ears, and I was listening hard for the first of the thunder. I heard nobody pass my door. I’d have heard anyone in the corridor. Make a note of that, Mr. Stickney. It seems important.”He broke off and glanced contemptuously at Freddie.“At almost exactly half-past twelve,” he went on, “the storm broke. I looked at my watch at the first thunder-clap. It was a good storm. I’ve seldom seen better. But from my point of view it was rather a failure, just then. I couldn’t see well enough out of my window. I was losing half of it. So I got up—I hadn’t undressed—and I took my candle with me because I didn’t know where the corridor switches were. Nor the switches in the hall below. I’d failed to make a note of them.”He paused for a moment as though expecting comments, but no one said anything.“I went downstairs. I wanted to get outside if I could. I didn’t mean to lose any of that storm. At the main door, I had a glance at the burglar alarm. It’s the same pattern as I use in my own house, so I put it out of action and opened the door. It was quite dry outside then. The rain hadn’t started. So I went out.”Westenhanger was struck by an idea.“Just a moment, Mr. Wraxall. That meant you left the door open behind you, didn’t it? Could anyone have got in without you seeing him?”Wraxall nodded approval.“No, nobody could have got in. I had my eye on the door all the time. I was never away from it. To continue: The whole house-front was dark when I went outside, except for some windows in the little tower above the Corinthian’s Room. They were lit up.”“That’s Eric Dangerfield’s room,” interjected Westenhanger.“Quite right. You’ll hear more about that when I come to it, but let’s take things as they happened. Almost as soon as I got outside there was a terrific flash—blinding. And then the father and mother of all the thunder-claps. I found in the morning it had struck one of the trees near by. That was at twelve thirty-nine p.m. exact—I looked at my watch by the next flash which came immediately after.”“That must have been the peal that frightened me,” Nina interjected. “It was the loudest I ever heard.”“Within a minute or two,” continued Wraxall, “a light went up at the end of the east wing.”“That was in my room,” confirmed Cynthia Pennard.“We can ignore it for the present, then,” said Wraxall. “I’m just giving you what I saw. About five minutes later—that would be about ten minutes to one by rough reckoning—a light appeared in the Corinthian’s Room——”“Ah!” exclaimed Freddie Stickney. “This is getting hotter.”“Only another of your mare’s nests, Freddie,” explained Douglas. “It was I who switched that on.”Wraxall continued without taking any notice.“I saw a light in the Corinthian’s Room and—as I was about to say when Mr. Stickney cut in—in the library which leads out of the Corinthian’s Room. Five minutes later, say about one o’clock in the morning, the rain drove me indoors. I bolted the door and put on the alarm again. As I came back into the hall, someone switched on the lights, and I found young Dangerfield there. I said something about having been out looking at the storm and he nodded. Then I went upstairs and back to my room. The best part of the storm was over, so I went to bed, perhaps round about quarter past one. Like the other people I woke up as usual in the morning. That’s all I can remember at present.”The American’s narrative, whether intentionally or not, had brought a relaxation of the tension in the room. By his purely objective treatment of the matter he had produced an unconscious change in outlook among his audience. Westenhanger was relieved to see that even Eileen’s face had taken on a less strained expression. She was anything but at her ease, yet there was something in her face which suggested that she had passed the worst.Douglas Fairmile was the next to volunteer an account of his doings during the night.“I’m no great hand at exact times and seasons,” he began. “You’ll just need to take what you get. And I’m no amateur in storms, either. If lightning leaves me alone I’ll never trouble it. But that storm forced itself on my notice—and not in a quiet insinuating way, either. To be frank with you, it kept me awake. After a while I got fed up listening to it, so I thought I might as well read, since I couldn’t sleep. So I padded off downstairs to get a book from the library. Mr. Wraxall says it was just about one o’clock, and he knows more about it than I do. The only thing that strikes me as important in the affair is that when I switched on the lights in the Corinthian’s Room, I happened to notice that the Talisman was still in its place. So that means it disappeared after one o’clock in the morning.”He glanced at Eileen as he spoke. Westenhanger felt a wave of relief at this evidence, since it seemed to clear the girl completely; but on looking at her, he was surprised to see that she showed no sign of elation. Her expression hardly indicated that she had appreciated the force of Douglas’s statement.“I picked up a book,” continued Douglas, “and just as I was leaving the room, Eric came down his stair. We exchanged a few bright remarks about the storm—nothing worth recording—and I left him writing something at the table in the library. I must have got through the hall—I didn’t bother to switch on the lights—before Mr. Wraxall came inside again. And so to bed. And may I repeat, Freddie, lest you failed to catch my whisper last time, that I didnotsteal the Talisman as I was passing. Make a note of that. It seems important, as Mr. Wraxall says.”“I’m afraid my story doesn’t help much,” said Nina Lindale, shyly, “and it makes me out to be a terrible coward. But I’ve always been nervous of thunder since I was a kiddie. I didn’t mind the beginning of this one—at least I tried not to mind it. But then there came a terrific flash and a perfectly awful peal of thunder, and my nerves went to pieces altogether.”“That must have been the time the tree was struck, I expect,” said the American. “Say twenty minutes to one?”“Oh, don’t ask me what time it was. I had other things to think about. After that, I felt I simply couldn’t be alone for another minute. I got up and went next door into Eileen’s room. I wanted company at any price, even if I had to knock up half the house to get it. But Eileen wasn’t there. Her bed hadn’t been slept in. So I thought perhaps she was in the same state and had gone to someone else’s room. I rushed along to Cynthia’s bedroom and burst in on her. And after that I didn’t dare to go back to my own room again, so I just stayed with her all night.”“That accounts for my light being switched on, you see, Mr. Wraxall,” said Cynthia to the American. “I’ve really no idea of what time it was that Nina came along to me; but it was just after that awful thunder-clap; and I expect that was the one you made a note of. Nina and I fell asleep after a while, once the storm had gone down. I don’t know what time that was, either. Do you generally fall asleep with your eyes on your watch, Mr. Stickney? It seems very hard to fix any definite times for things which happen at night.”Freddie smiled in a superior fashion.“As it happens, I did look at my watch in the middle of the night. I went to bed at the same time as the rest; and went to sleep, too, which is more than some of you seem to have been able to do. I slept through the storm. But later on the wind got up. My window-blind began to flap badly; and that woke me up. I looked at the time to see if it was worth while getting out of bed and fixing it, or whether it wasn’t worth while. That was at twenty minutes to three, I remember distinctly.”He glanced at Cynthia triumphantly. She took up the implied challenge at once.“Yes, Mr. Stickney, you’ve given usonetime. But you haven’t told us when you went to sleep. It seems to me you’re no better than the rest of us, really.”Freddie ignored her and continued his tale.“I made up my mind to get up and fix the blind. That was at twenty minutes to three, as I said. While I was at the window, I looked out. My room looks right across the court-yard to the windows of Miss Lindale’s room. As I was standing at the window, a light went up in the windows next to Miss Lindale’s.”He paused, and Westenhanger saw by his expression that he hoped to spring a surprise. Freddie swung round suddenly upon Eileen.“That’s your room, isn’t it, Miss Cressage?”The girl’s face showed that this was the piece of evidence which she had been dreading; but she managed to keep her voice under control as she answered.“My room is next Nina’s, and I did switch on my light sometime in the small hours. I didn’t look at the time, but no doubt you’re quite right about it.”Again the atmosphere had grown tense. Westenhanger swiftly scanned the girl’s face, and he was distressed to see how haggard she seemed. “She looks just like a trapped animal,” he thought in the first flash. Then some unidentifiable trait in her expression brought a second idea to the fore. “She looks as though she knew she’s in a very tight corner; but she expects to pull out of it somehow in the end. She’s pretty nearly desperate—but not quite.”Freddie, having drawn general attention to Eileen’s attitude, contented himself with completing his story.“I looked out of my window for a short time after fixing the blind so that it wouldn’t flap again. After that I went back to bed again and fell asleep almost immediately. I waked up at the usual time.”He waited for a moment and then added:“Now if we had Miss Cressage’s story we should have had everybody’s version of the affair.”Eileen rose to her feet, and they could see that she was trembling, though she kept herself under control. Westenhanger instinctively leaned forward in his chair. If the girl had some trump card in her hand, now was the time to play it. If not, then undoubtedly Freddie Stickney had put her in a bad position. She had left her room at a quarter past twelve. Freddie’s evidence pointed to her coming back again at twenty minutes to three in the morning, and switching on her light as she re-entered her room. What could any girl be doing out of her bed at that time of night, and for two hours at a stretch? And, undoubtedly, from the evidence of Douglas, the Talisman might have disappeared during the time she was moving about the house. No matter where she had been, it looked a bad business; and yet Westenhanger could not help feeling that there must be some explanation.“That girl’s straight,” he repeated to himself. “She’s over-straight, if anything, by the look of her. And yet she’s got herself into some deadly hole or other.”Then an idea suddenly flashed into his mind.“Suppose she’s shielding someone else! I never thought of that! But it would need to be a pretty strong motive that would make her take the thing as she has taken it.”Before he could follow out this train of thought, Eileen’s voice broke in on his reflections.“I really haven’t anything to say. It’s quite true that Mrs. Caistor Scorton saw me in the corridor after twelve o’clock. I didn’t know she had seen me then. And it’s quite true that I switched on my light when I came back again. I don’t know what time it was then, but probably Mr. Stickney is quite right. It doesn’t matter much. I wasn’t near the Talisman during the night. That’s all I can tell you.”Her control suddenly broke, and she moved hastily towards the door. Douglas Fairmile sprang up and opened it for her to pass out. As she passed him, she could read in his face that he at least was quite prepared to take her word.As the door closed behind her, the atmosphere of strain grew more intense. The realisation that they had narrowly escaped a nasty scene weighed upon the group; and no one seemed eager to break the silence. At last Westenhanger, feeling that the first note struck was of importance, swung round on Freddie Stickney. He ignored the events of the last few moments completely.“Well, Freddie,” he said, coldly, “your inquest doesn’t seem to have led to much. I can’t congratulate you. Speaking purely as a bystander, I can’t say that you’ve achieved anything. Take your own case. You went to bed at some unspecified hour. You say you slept through that storm. That’s quite possible; though some of us might have difficulty in believing you, if I can judge from the accounts I’ve heard of the thunder. At any rate, you tell us you waked up shortly before three o’clock and were actually out of bed at that time—just the period when the Talisman was stolen. You were up and about for some unspecified time. Then you went back to bed and fell asleep again. Quite all right no doubt.”His voice grew more incisive.“But if you think you’ve cleared yourself of suspicion by telling that tale, I may as well sweep away your illusions. If a detective were working on this case, he’d simply ignore your whole yarn—except one solitary point. He’d take Miss Cressage’s word that she switched on the light in her room, and he’d believe you when you say you saw that light go up. That’s the only point where there’s the slightest confirmation. And Miss Cressage is the only person who could clear you, if it happened to turn out that the Talisman disappeared about three o’clock in the morning.”He shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.“You seem to have the foggiest notion of evidence, Freddie. Anyone could have foreseen this sort of thing. Even a child would know that at night, in a house like this, it’s almost impossible to establish a decent alibi. Nina and Cynthia are the only two of you who have established cast-iron alibis; and that was due to a pure accident—the thunderstorm.”“That’s true,” said Wraxall, before Freddie could reply. “That’s quite correct, Mr. Westenhanger. Nobody could get an alibi under these conditions, in the normal way. I quite agree with you that this little playlet hasn’t been a success. By no means. I think we’d be well advised to forget all about it.”Douglas Fairmile laughed at the sight of Freddie’s expression; and with that laugh, the tension was released again. Douglas’s mirth seemed infectious, following so closely on the strain of the last quarter of an hour.“Well, I’m glad you can’t suspect me,” said Nina Lindale with a faint smile. “I never thought a thunderstorm would clear my character. I suppose I ought to be thankful.”“Ditto!” added Cynthia, lightly.Westenhanger returned to the attack in a sardonic tone.“One thing I noticed, Freddie: You didn’t go the length of denying that you stole the Talisman yourself. An oversight, probably. Oh, don’t trouble to do it now; it would look rather too much like an after-thought. Besides, no detective would take your word for it—with that look on your face.”“ ‘Detected Guilt, or The Sinner Unmasked’—what?” jeered Douglas. “Freddie, you’d make the fortune of a problem painter if he got hold of you just now. ‘Did He Do It?’ That would be the title. Picture of the wily fellow who takes charge of the whole investigation and then leads all the sleuths on the wrong scent while he makes off with the swag, eh? Priceless!”The three men had turned the tables on Freddie, and he had the wit to recognise the fact. The whole effect of his efforts had been nullified by this last touch of ridicule, which made a special appeal after the earlier tension. He nodded sulkily, as though admitting an error; but he made no direct reply to Westenhanger.Nina Lindale gave the signal for the company to break up.“I’m off to bed,” she announced, unsuccessfully trying to conceal a yawn. “I got very little sleep last night, and if I stay up any longer I shall doze off in my chair.”“That’s a sound idea, Miss Lindale,” said Wraxall. “I begin to remember that I lost some sleep too, last night.”Morchard and Mrs. Caistor Scorton joined the group which was moving toward the door. Cynthia linked her arm in Nina’s and was turning away when Douglas called her back and spoke to her in a low voice.“What a thoughtful child it is!” they heard her say, in mock admiration. “And did you imagine I hadn’t thought of that long ago? Don’t worry!”She hurried after her companion. Freddie Stickney, left alone with Douglas and Westenhanger, shuffled for a moment or two and then retired to the door.“I’m going to bed,” he said, reaching for the handle.“Right, Freddie,” said Douglas, making a pretence of consulting his watch. “I’ve taken the time. Set your alarm clock every quarter of an hour and jot down that you were in bed each time when you woke up. It’ll be an invaluable memorandum if anything happens to go astray to-night. Bye-bye. If you feel one of your ears burning, don’t fret. It will probably be me saying what I think of your exploits.”Freddie suppressed a snarl and went out. Westenhanger dropped into a big lounge-chair and pulled out his pipe.“Sit down, Douglas; it’s early yet.”Douglas picked out a convenient seat, near enough to allow a low-voiced conversation.“I asked Cynthia to drop into Eileen’s room and tell her what we thought of things. Couldn’t leave the girl imagining we believed she was a wrong ’un, could we? And she might have thought that, cutting off when she did. Cynthia was going to see her off her own bat, it seems. Sound girl, Cynthia; she’ll do it tactfully. Some people might make a bad break in a case like that.”Westenhanger acquiesced silently, and filled his pipe before he spoke again.“Damnable business, that,” he said at last. “And if we’d stopped it, there would have been some sort of scene. Everyone’s nerves were on edge. Anything was better than that. But what actually happened wasn’t so very much better after all. That girl was as near cracking up as she could be. If it hadn’t been for her grit, we might have had a much nastier affair on our hands.”“One would like to wring Freddie’s neck, of course,” Douglas mused aloud; “but that would mean a row. We can’t have rows. With luck, we can stifle this business; but a row would make it anybody’s news. Freddie gets off this time, I’m afraid.”“He does. I’m sorry.”“The infernal thing is that the little sweep’s right, you know, Conway. Weareall under suspicion. I don’t suspect anyone myself—not my line. But there’s no getting away from it. Someone did take that damned Talisman.”“Afraid so. The only hope that I have is that it may have been a practical joke after all, and that the joker was afraid to own up. Trusted to putting the thing back again without being spotted.”“Possible, of course,” conceded Douglas. “But I can’t identify the prize idiot.”“Nor can I. Well, take the other thing and see if it leads you any further—theft, I mean. I’m out of it, by pure luck. You’ve all the money you want. Morchard has more than’s good for him. The Scorton woman is rolling in it. I take it that the girls don’t come into question?”He glanced interrogatively at Douglas, who nodded his agreement.“Then that leaves the American and Freddie as a residue. Know anything about Wraxall, Douglas?”“Nix, as I suppose he’d say. He’s a collector, of sorts, and rolling in money, I’ve heard.”“H’m!” said Westenhanger, pausing for a moment.“Well, pass Wraxall,” he continued. “That leaves us with Freddie. I don’t like Freddie. I’ve nothing against his morals, for I know nothing about them. I do know he’s hard up, though. But I’ve been hard up myself at times. That doesn’t necessarily make a black mark on one’s record.”“True,” Douglas agreed. Then after a few seconds he added: “Know the Scots verdictNot Proven, Conway? ‘The accused was discharged with a stain on his character. All saved, bar honour.’ That’s how you feel about Freddie, perhaps?”“I’m not very friendly. The way that girl was baited to-night was enough to sicken any decent person. But there’s a difference between feeling like that and calling the little beast a thief, you know.”“Not Proven; that’s so.”Westenhanger considered for a few moments as though he found it difficult to choose words for what he had to say. At last he put down his pipe.“There’s one thing, Douglas—that girl has got to be cleared. We’re all mixed up inthataffair, thanks to Freddie’s infernal manœuvres; we can’t shirk responsibility. I don’t know what possessed her to go roaming about the house at that time of night. Still less can I imagine why she couldn’t tell us what she was after. But she’s a straight girl, if ever I saw one, and we simply can’t afford to let things rest as they are. I don’t want to know what she was doing—and I don’t much care. But the only way to clear her is to find out who actually did the trick. It’ll be a stiff business.”Douglas looked serious.“Stiff enough, if you ask me. If you want a Watson, I’m your man; but you’ll need to supply the Sherlocking yourself. I simply haven’t the brains for it. The whole affair is a complete mystery—and likely to remain so, for all the help I could give.”“I’m not hopeful,” confessed Westenhanger at once. “The only detecting I ever did was guessing what cards were in my opponents’ hands. It’s not so much I expect to get anything out, Douglas. I feel one has to turn to and do what one can, or else I shouldn’t be comfortable. That girl’s face wasn’t a happy sight to-night. It’s got rather on my nerves, if you want to know.”He took up his pipe again. Douglas said nothing, but his face showed that he understood Westenhanger’s account of his feelings.“What do you make of Wraxall?” Westenhanger demanded, abruptly.“Decent soul, I thought. Backed us up well in the matter of sitting on Freddie.”Westenhanger made no comment. Douglas let him smoke in silence for a while before inquiring:“What do you think?”“Wraxall was the only one of you who had a complete story ready to account for all his doings during the night. That’s my impression about Wraxall, Douglas.”
“Now,” said Freddie Stickney, “I think we can begin.”
He had been as good as his word. Each guest had been approached by him apart from the rest; and the appropriate hint, insinuation, or appeal, had been skilfully employed. They had all come, willingly or not, and Freddie had them at his mercy. His beady little eyes, bright as those of a mouse, glanced from face to face in an attempt to read the expressions. Already, he judged, most of them were uncomfortable; and the production of discomfort was Freddie’s strong card. He cleared his throat gently in preparation for his opening statement of the case as he saw it; but just at that moment the door clicked and Westenhanger stepped into the room.
“Look here, Westenhanger, you can’t come in just now,” protested Freddie, who augured little good from the engineer’s presence. “This is a private affair.”
Westenhanger stared at him with admirably acted surprise.
“Are you getting up a charade to amuse the Dangerfield family, or something like that? I don’t think much of the notion, but I’m quite game to join if all the rest of you are in it. Go ahead; don’t let me interrupt.”
He selected a chair near Eileen Cressage and sat down. Freddie bit his lip in vexation. Westenhanger’s entrance had taken him aback; he had not bargained for the presence of anyone except those who came under suspicion. For a moment he thought of arguing the point and contesting Westenhanger’s right to be there at all; but a glance at the engineer’s face showed him the uselessness of any such attempt. Quite obviously Westenhanger meant to sit through the business.
“Get on with it, Freddie,” directed Douglas Fairmile, impatiently. “You can’t expect us to sit here all night merely to look at you, can you?”
Freddie cleared his throat again, and launched into his exposition; but the two interruptions had flustered him a little and he failed to make his points tell as heavily as he had hoped.
“You all know the Dangerfield Talisman’s disappeared. The burglar alarms were all found correctly set in the morning, so obviously nobody could have got into the house from the outside. That limits the thing down to the people in the house. I think that’s plain.”
“Quite plain,” commented Westenhanger. “Self-evident, in fact. Proceed, Freddie.”
“The inmates of the house can be divided into three . . .”
“Just like ancient Gaul, eh?” Douglas explained.
Freddie scowled at the interruption and repeated his phrases.
“The inmates can be divided into three groups. First, there’s the Dangerfields themselves; second, the servants; third, the guests—ourselves. The Dangerfields don’t come into the matter. There’s no reason why any of them should take away the Talisman. Then it’s a fact that none of the servants can be suspected. At least, so the Dangerfields say, and they ought to know. That leaves ourselves. One of us must have taken it.”
He glanced round the group in the hope that, even at this early stage in the inquiry, someone might betray himself. Morchard was leaning back in his chair, lazily following the movement of a smoke-ring which he had blown by accident. Mrs. Caistor Scorton was obviously bored. Nina and Cynthia were trying to repress smiles—evidently the results of some whispered aside by Douglas which Freddie had failed to catch. As for Wraxall, even an expert poker-player could have made nothing of his inscrutable mask. Eileen Cressage looked white and tired; and there was something in her face that encouraged Freddie to think that here he had found the weak point in the circle. Quite evidently she dreaded something to come, but she seemed to be hoping that the danger might yet be averted. Westenhanger, of course, showed nothing, since he was the solitary individual whose innocence was beyond doubt.
“Now there are two possible explanations of the Talisman’s disappearance,” Freddie continued. “One is, that it’s due to a practical joke. We all know how the Dangerfields boast about taking no precautions with the Talisman. Somebody here may have wanted to give them a lesson about that. That’s a possibility. But if that’s the explanation, I think we have something to say. Joke or no joke, the thing’s gone, and until it turns up again, every one of us is under suspicion of theft. Everyone of us!”
He glanced round the faces once more, but still no one betrayed any definite sign of guilt. Eileen Cressage’s expression puzzled him. She looked up and caught his eyes for a moment, but it was he who turned away first, so manifest was the dislike in her glance. Quite evidently the girl had something to conceal, and Freddie grew more determined to bring it to light, whatever it was.
“Just a moment, Mr. Stickney!” the American interrupted as Freddie was about to continue. “Let’s be accurate, ifyouplease. You said ‘Everyone of us.’ That’s not correct. Mr. Westenhanger can’t be included. He couldn’t have had any hand in the affair, on your own showing.”
The engineer acknowledged the American’s statement with a quick smile. Wraxall, evidently, was a kindred spirit, bent on spoiling Freddie’s little effects.
“Very well,” snapped Freddie. “Then it’s one of us here, excluding Westenhanger.”
Rather to Westenhanger’s surprise, Morchard joined the critics.
“Wrong again,” he declared, weightily. “Mrs. Brent was in the house that night; and she isn’t here. I agree with Mr. Wraxall. Let’s be accurate.”
“Well, well,” snarled Freddie, “have it as you like. The main point is that everyone here, bar one, is under suspicion. And whether it’s a practical joke or not, it looks like plain theft. And that’s a very unpleasant business, very unpleasant to us all—to myself at any rate. It’s very unfair. And if this thing isn’t cleared up as soon as possible it’ll leave a permanent stain on our characters. You know how people talk.”
“I hear you, Freddie,” interjected Douglas, and Freddie was annoyed to see Nina Lindale’s lips twitch in a repressed smile.
“It’s no laughing matter,” he said, indignantly. “Far from it. Somebody in Friocksheim took the Talisman, that’s certain. Now all I suggest is that we should each voluntarily account for our time during the period when the thing was stolen. That’s no hardship to anyone. I’m quite glad to do it myself; and I’m sure everyone else in my position will be just as glad. If anyone here took the Talisman, let him say so now and we won’t need to go any further.”
He fixed his eye on Douglas Fairmile as he spoke, more by accident than design.
“Meaning me?” inquired Douglas. “Try again, doggie. You’re barking up the wrong tree. I never touched the thing in my life.”
Freddie ignored the interruption.
“Nobody admits they did it as a joke?” he demanded. “Then it’s much worse. It’s theft, pure and simple. We owe it to ourselves to clear the thing up. At any rate, that’s my view, and I think it will be the view of everybody in my position to-night.”
To Freddie’s surprise Morchard came to his assistance.
“There’s something in that,” he admitted. “I doubt if it’ll lead to anything; but since the thing’s been allowed to go so far, I don’t see any harm in letting anyone who wishes it, do as you suggest.”
Freddie, looking at Eileen Cressage, saw her shoot a glance at Morchard; but as she turned her head to do so, he could not see her expression. When she turned back again he had no difficulty in reading consternation in her face. She detected that he was watching her and endeavoured, with very little success, to assume an indifferent attitude. Westenhanger also had caught the by-play, and his face clouded.
“Suppose you begin, then,” Freddie suggested to Morchard.
Morchard seemed rather annoyed at being directly attacked, but he gave a nod of acquiescence.
“Most of us went upstairs together, you remember. That would be about a quarter to twelve or so. I didn’t look at my watch, so I can’t make it closer. Anyway, it must have been about then. We’ve always been pretty early at Friocksheim. Then I undressed and went to bed—midnight, say. And I woke up as usual in the morning. That’s all. Help you much, Stickney?”
Freddie ignored the query and glanced round to see if anyone else would volunteer. Mrs. Caistor Scorton sat up in her chair.
“I went to my room as usual—about a quarter to twelve, as Mr. Morchard says. Some people came up a little later. I heard steps in the corridor and the sounds of doors shutting. There was some talking in low voices and more doors shut. Then the whole house was quiet. I looked out of the window for a short time, wondering if the storm was coming at last. Then I heard a noise as if someone had stumbled on the mat outside my door. I opened the door quietly and looked out. It was Miss Cressage. She was carrying a lighted candle and by the time I got the door open she was a good distance down the passage. I didn’t call after her, but just shut my door again. I looked at my watch to see how late it was, and I remember it was a quarter past twelve. After a time I undressed and went to bed. The next thing I can remember is waking up as usual.”
Westenhanger was completely taken aback by this evidence. What could a girl be doing, wandering about the house at that time of night? Almost without thinking, he swung round on Mrs. Caistor Scorton and put a question.
“You’re sure it was Miss Cressage?”
“Quite sure,” said Mrs. Caistor Scorton, composedly. “She was wearing her dressing-gown and bedroom slippers. No one else has a silk dressing-gown of that shade.”
Eileen Cressage had gone very white during Mrs. Caistor Scorton’s evidence, but she made no comment. Westenhanger, looking at her momentarily, saw that she had been completely surprised. At the same time, her attitude suggested that she might have something in reserve though she was not very confident about it. Freddie Stickney in his turn put a question to Mrs. Caistor Scorton.
“You said she was ‘going down the passage.’ What does that mean?”
“Miss Cressage’s room is beyond mine. She was going away from it when I saw her.”
“Oh, I see,” said Freddie. “You mean that she was going along the corridor in the direction of the bachelor’s wing?”
Westenhanger saw Eileen start in her chair at this elucidation by Freddie, but she evidently held herself in with an almost physical effort.
“Why on earth doesn’t she say something?” he wondered to himself. “I’d stake my money that she’s straight, and yet she lets that little swine go on unchecked with his insinuations. I can’t understand it.”
Whether she wished it or not, Mrs. Caistor Scorton had changed the whole atmosphere. Up to the moment when she began to speak, the affair had been handled in an almost frivolous spirit. Freddie Stickney had been making a fool of himself, and no one liked him sufficiently to feel troubled by that aspect of the matter. Even the Talisman theft had not weighed over heavily as a personal thing, for nobody had any formulated suspicions in his mind. But Mrs. Caistor Scorton, in half a dozen sentences, had brought them face to face with a new problem, and the silence of the girl made it difficult to find innocuous explanations. Something ugly had reared up in the midst of what, to most of them, had been little more than a joke. Eileen’s white, strained face, and her attitude of a creature at bay, had taken away all humour from the situation. Freddie Stickney had achieved a masterpiece in the creation of discomfort. Westenhanger could see Douglas Fairmile’s face, and in its expression he read the twin of his own feelings.
The American broke the silence, before its awkwardness grew too obvious.
“You mean that Miss Cressage was going towards the head of the main stair-case, I suppose?”
Mrs. Caistor Scorton nodded without speaking.
“I understand it better when it’s put in that way,” said Wraxall, bluntly.
Eileen Cressage threw him a glance in which Westenhanger recognised gratitude. The American had taken the edge off the situation, to some extent, by his intervention. But a moment’s reflection showed Westenhanger that Wraxall had merely turned the matter into a fresh and difficult channel. Down the stair-case was the way to the Corinthian’s Room and the Talisman.
Before anyone else could interpose comments, Wraxall again threw himself into the breach:
“My tale’s more elaborate than these two. It’ll take longer to tell, I expect. I went upstairs to bed with the rest of the party, but I didn’t undress just then. I felt that storm coming up, and I like storms. I wouldn’t miss one. So I just sat at my window. My room’s the second on the corridor in the bachelor’s wing, as you go along from the stair-case. Yours is the first, isn’t it, Mr. Westenhanger?”
“Yes, I’m next you.”
“Your room was empty, that night, so anyone going along the corridor had to pass my door before they got to any other room. I was wide awake, at my window. I’ve pretty sharp ears, and I was listening hard for the first of the thunder. I heard nobody pass my door. I’d have heard anyone in the corridor. Make a note of that, Mr. Stickney. It seems important.”
He broke off and glanced contemptuously at Freddie.
“At almost exactly half-past twelve,” he went on, “the storm broke. I looked at my watch at the first thunder-clap. It was a good storm. I’ve seldom seen better. But from my point of view it was rather a failure, just then. I couldn’t see well enough out of my window. I was losing half of it. So I got up—I hadn’t undressed—and I took my candle with me because I didn’t know where the corridor switches were. Nor the switches in the hall below. I’d failed to make a note of them.”
He paused for a moment as though expecting comments, but no one said anything.
“I went downstairs. I wanted to get outside if I could. I didn’t mean to lose any of that storm. At the main door, I had a glance at the burglar alarm. It’s the same pattern as I use in my own house, so I put it out of action and opened the door. It was quite dry outside then. The rain hadn’t started. So I went out.”
Westenhanger was struck by an idea.
“Just a moment, Mr. Wraxall. That meant you left the door open behind you, didn’t it? Could anyone have got in without you seeing him?”
Wraxall nodded approval.
“No, nobody could have got in. I had my eye on the door all the time. I was never away from it. To continue: The whole house-front was dark when I went outside, except for some windows in the little tower above the Corinthian’s Room. They were lit up.”
“That’s Eric Dangerfield’s room,” interjected Westenhanger.
“Quite right. You’ll hear more about that when I come to it, but let’s take things as they happened. Almost as soon as I got outside there was a terrific flash—blinding. And then the father and mother of all the thunder-claps. I found in the morning it had struck one of the trees near by. That was at twelve thirty-nine p.m. exact—I looked at my watch by the next flash which came immediately after.”
“That must have been the peal that frightened me,” Nina interjected. “It was the loudest I ever heard.”
“Within a minute or two,” continued Wraxall, “a light went up at the end of the east wing.”
“That was in my room,” confirmed Cynthia Pennard.
“We can ignore it for the present, then,” said Wraxall. “I’m just giving you what I saw. About five minutes later—that would be about ten minutes to one by rough reckoning—a light appeared in the Corinthian’s Room——”
“Ah!” exclaimed Freddie Stickney. “This is getting hotter.”
“Only another of your mare’s nests, Freddie,” explained Douglas. “It was I who switched that on.”
Wraxall continued without taking any notice.
“I saw a light in the Corinthian’s Room and—as I was about to say when Mr. Stickney cut in—in the library which leads out of the Corinthian’s Room. Five minutes later, say about one o’clock in the morning, the rain drove me indoors. I bolted the door and put on the alarm again. As I came back into the hall, someone switched on the lights, and I found young Dangerfield there. I said something about having been out looking at the storm and he nodded. Then I went upstairs and back to my room. The best part of the storm was over, so I went to bed, perhaps round about quarter past one. Like the other people I woke up as usual in the morning. That’s all I can remember at present.”
The American’s narrative, whether intentionally or not, had brought a relaxation of the tension in the room. By his purely objective treatment of the matter he had produced an unconscious change in outlook among his audience. Westenhanger was relieved to see that even Eileen’s face had taken on a less strained expression. She was anything but at her ease, yet there was something in her face which suggested that she had passed the worst.
Douglas Fairmile was the next to volunteer an account of his doings during the night.
“I’m no great hand at exact times and seasons,” he began. “You’ll just need to take what you get. And I’m no amateur in storms, either. If lightning leaves me alone I’ll never trouble it. But that storm forced itself on my notice—and not in a quiet insinuating way, either. To be frank with you, it kept me awake. After a while I got fed up listening to it, so I thought I might as well read, since I couldn’t sleep. So I padded off downstairs to get a book from the library. Mr. Wraxall says it was just about one o’clock, and he knows more about it than I do. The only thing that strikes me as important in the affair is that when I switched on the lights in the Corinthian’s Room, I happened to notice that the Talisman was still in its place. So that means it disappeared after one o’clock in the morning.”
He glanced at Eileen as he spoke. Westenhanger felt a wave of relief at this evidence, since it seemed to clear the girl completely; but on looking at her, he was surprised to see that she showed no sign of elation. Her expression hardly indicated that she had appreciated the force of Douglas’s statement.
“I picked up a book,” continued Douglas, “and just as I was leaving the room, Eric came down his stair. We exchanged a few bright remarks about the storm—nothing worth recording—and I left him writing something at the table in the library. I must have got through the hall—I didn’t bother to switch on the lights—before Mr. Wraxall came inside again. And so to bed. And may I repeat, Freddie, lest you failed to catch my whisper last time, that I didnotsteal the Talisman as I was passing. Make a note of that. It seems important, as Mr. Wraxall says.”
“I’m afraid my story doesn’t help much,” said Nina Lindale, shyly, “and it makes me out to be a terrible coward. But I’ve always been nervous of thunder since I was a kiddie. I didn’t mind the beginning of this one—at least I tried not to mind it. But then there came a terrific flash and a perfectly awful peal of thunder, and my nerves went to pieces altogether.”
“That must have been the time the tree was struck, I expect,” said the American. “Say twenty minutes to one?”
“Oh, don’t ask me what time it was. I had other things to think about. After that, I felt I simply couldn’t be alone for another minute. I got up and went next door into Eileen’s room. I wanted company at any price, even if I had to knock up half the house to get it. But Eileen wasn’t there. Her bed hadn’t been slept in. So I thought perhaps she was in the same state and had gone to someone else’s room. I rushed along to Cynthia’s bedroom and burst in on her. And after that I didn’t dare to go back to my own room again, so I just stayed with her all night.”
“That accounts for my light being switched on, you see, Mr. Wraxall,” said Cynthia to the American. “I’ve really no idea of what time it was that Nina came along to me; but it was just after that awful thunder-clap; and I expect that was the one you made a note of. Nina and I fell asleep after a while, once the storm had gone down. I don’t know what time that was, either. Do you generally fall asleep with your eyes on your watch, Mr. Stickney? It seems very hard to fix any definite times for things which happen at night.”
Freddie smiled in a superior fashion.
“As it happens, I did look at my watch in the middle of the night. I went to bed at the same time as the rest; and went to sleep, too, which is more than some of you seem to have been able to do. I slept through the storm. But later on the wind got up. My window-blind began to flap badly; and that woke me up. I looked at the time to see if it was worth while getting out of bed and fixing it, or whether it wasn’t worth while. That was at twenty minutes to three, I remember distinctly.”
He glanced at Cynthia triumphantly. She took up the implied challenge at once.
“Yes, Mr. Stickney, you’ve given usonetime. But you haven’t told us when you went to sleep. It seems to me you’re no better than the rest of us, really.”
Freddie ignored her and continued his tale.
“I made up my mind to get up and fix the blind. That was at twenty minutes to three, as I said. While I was at the window, I looked out. My room looks right across the court-yard to the windows of Miss Lindale’s room. As I was standing at the window, a light went up in the windows next to Miss Lindale’s.”
He paused, and Westenhanger saw by his expression that he hoped to spring a surprise. Freddie swung round suddenly upon Eileen.
“That’s your room, isn’t it, Miss Cressage?”
The girl’s face showed that this was the piece of evidence which she had been dreading; but she managed to keep her voice under control as she answered.
“My room is next Nina’s, and I did switch on my light sometime in the small hours. I didn’t look at the time, but no doubt you’re quite right about it.”
Again the atmosphere had grown tense. Westenhanger swiftly scanned the girl’s face, and he was distressed to see how haggard she seemed. “She looks just like a trapped animal,” he thought in the first flash. Then some unidentifiable trait in her expression brought a second idea to the fore. “She looks as though she knew she’s in a very tight corner; but she expects to pull out of it somehow in the end. She’s pretty nearly desperate—but not quite.”
Freddie, having drawn general attention to Eileen’s attitude, contented himself with completing his story.
“I looked out of my window for a short time after fixing the blind so that it wouldn’t flap again. After that I went back to bed again and fell asleep almost immediately. I waked up at the usual time.”
He waited for a moment and then added:
“Now if we had Miss Cressage’s story we should have had everybody’s version of the affair.”
Eileen rose to her feet, and they could see that she was trembling, though she kept herself under control. Westenhanger instinctively leaned forward in his chair. If the girl had some trump card in her hand, now was the time to play it. If not, then undoubtedly Freddie Stickney had put her in a bad position. She had left her room at a quarter past twelve. Freddie’s evidence pointed to her coming back again at twenty minutes to three in the morning, and switching on her light as she re-entered her room. What could any girl be doing out of her bed at that time of night, and for two hours at a stretch? And, undoubtedly, from the evidence of Douglas, the Talisman might have disappeared during the time she was moving about the house. No matter where she had been, it looked a bad business; and yet Westenhanger could not help feeling that there must be some explanation.
“That girl’s straight,” he repeated to himself. “She’s over-straight, if anything, by the look of her. And yet she’s got herself into some deadly hole or other.”
Then an idea suddenly flashed into his mind.
“Suppose she’s shielding someone else! I never thought of that! But it would need to be a pretty strong motive that would make her take the thing as she has taken it.”
Before he could follow out this train of thought, Eileen’s voice broke in on his reflections.
“I really haven’t anything to say. It’s quite true that Mrs. Caistor Scorton saw me in the corridor after twelve o’clock. I didn’t know she had seen me then. And it’s quite true that I switched on my light when I came back again. I don’t know what time it was then, but probably Mr. Stickney is quite right. It doesn’t matter much. I wasn’t near the Talisman during the night. That’s all I can tell you.”
Her control suddenly broke, and she moved hastily towards the door. Douglas Fairmile sprang up and opened it for her to pass out. As she passed him, she could read in his face that he at least was quite prepared to take her word.
As the door closed behind her, the atmosphere of strain grew more intense. The realisation that they had narrowly escaped a nasty scene weighed upon the group; and no one seemed eager to break the silence. At last Westenhanger, feeling that the first note struck was of importance, swung round on Freddie Stickney. He ignored the events of the last few moments completely.
“Well, Freddie,” he said, coldly, “your inquest doesn’t seem to have led to much. I can’t congratulate you. Speaking purely as a bystander, I can’t say that you’ve achieved anything. Take your own case. You went to bed at some unspecified hour. You say you slept through that storm. That’s quite possible; though some of us might have difficulty in believing you, if I can judge from the accounts I’ve heard of the thunder. At any rate, you tell us you waked up shortly before three o’clock and were actually out of bed at that time—just the period when the Talisman was stolen. You were up and about for some unspecified time. Then you went back to bed and fell asleep again. Quite all right no doubt.”
His voice grew more incisive.
“But if you think you’ve cleared yourself of suspicion by telling that tale, I may as well sweep away your illusions. If a detective were working on this case, he’d simply ignore your whole yarn—except one solitary point. He’d take Miss Cressage’s word that she switched on the light in her room, and he’d believe you when you say you saw that light go up. That’s the only point where there’s the slightest confirmation. And Miss Cressage is the only person who could clear you, if it happened to turn out that the Talisman disappeared about three o’clock in the morning.”
He shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
“You seem to have the foggiest notion of evidence, Freddie. Anyone could have foreseen this sort of thing. Even a child would know that at night, in a house like this, it’s almost impossible to establish a decent alibi. Nina and Cynthia are the only two of you who have established cast-iron alibis; and that was due to a pure accident—the thunderstorm.”
“That’s true,” said Wraxall, before Freddie could reply. “That’s quite correct, Mr. Westenhanger. Nobody could get an alibi under these conditions, in the normal way. I quite agree with you that this little playlet hasn’t been a success. By no means. I think we’d be well advised to forget all about it.”
Douglas Fairmile laughed at the sight of Freddie’s expression; and with that laugh, the tension was released again. Douglas’s mirth seemed infectious, following so closely on the strain of the last quarter of an hour.
“Well, I’m glad you can’t suspect me,” said Nina Lindale with a faint smile. “I never thought a thunderstorm would clear my character. I suppose I ought to be thankful.”
“Ditto!” added Cynthia, lightly.
Westenhanger returned to the attack in a sardonic tone.
“One thing I noticed, Freddie: You didn’t go the length of denying that you stole the Talisman yourself. An oversight, probably. Oh, don’t trouble to do it now; it would look rather too much like an after-thought. Besides, no detective would take your word for it—with that look on your face.”
“ ‘Detected Guilt, or The Sinner Unmasked’—what?” jeered Douglas. “Freddie, you’d make the fortune of a problem painter if he got hold of you just now. ‘Did He Do It?’ That would be the title. Picture of the wily fellow who takes charge of the whole investigation and then leads all the sleuths on the wrong scent while he makes off with the swag, eh? Priceless!”
The three men had turned the tables on Freddie, and he had the wit to recognise the fact. The whole effect of his efforts had been nullified by this last touch of ridicule, which made a special appeal after the earlier tension. He nodded sulkily, as though admitting an error; but he made no direct reply to Westenhanger.
Nina Lindale gave the signal for the company to break up.
“I’m off to bed,” she announced, unsuccessfully trying to conceal a yawn. “I got very little sleep last night, and if I stay up any longer I shall doze off in my chair.”
“That’s a sound idea, Miss Lindale,” said Wraxall. “I begin to remember that I lost some sleep too, last night.”
Morchard and Mrs. Caistor Scorton joined the group which was moving toward the door. Cynthia linked her arm in Nina’s and was turning away when Douglas called her back and spoke to her in a low voice.
“What a thoughtful child it is!” they heard her say, in mock admiration. “And did you imagine I hadn’t thought of that long ago? Don’t worry!”
She hurried after her companion. Freddie Stickney, left alone with Douglas and Westenhanger, shuffled for a moment or two and then retired to the door.
“I’m going to bed,” he said, reaching for the handle.
“Right, Freddie,” said Douglas, making a pretence of consulting his watch. “I’ve taken the time. Set your alarm clock every quarter of an hour and jot down that you were in bed each time when you woke up. It’ll be an invaluable memorandum if anything happens to go astray to-night. Bye-bye. If you feel one of your ears burning, don’t fret. It will probably be me saying what I think of your exploits.”
Freddie suppressed a snarl and went out. Westenhanger dropped into a big lounge-chair and pulled out his pipe.
“Sit down, Douglas; it’s early yet.”
Douglas picked out a convenient seat, near enough to allow a low-voiced conversation.
“I asked Cynthia to drop into Eileen’s room and tell her what we thought of things. Couldn’t leave the girl imagining we believed she was a wrong ’un, could we? And she might have thought that, cutting off when she did. Cynthia was going to see her off her own bat, it seems. Sound girl, Cynthia; she’ll do it tactfully. Some people might make a bad break in a case like that.”
Westenhanger acquiesced silently, and filled his pipe before he spoke again.
“Damnable business, that,” he said at last. “And if we’d stopped it, there would have been some sort of scene. Everyone’s nerves were on edge. Anything was better than that. But what actually happened wasn’t so very much better after all. That girl was as near cracking up as she could be. If it hadn’t been for her grit, we might have had a much nastier affair on our hands.”
“One would like to wring Freddie’s neck, of course,” Douglas mused aloud; “but that would mean a row. We can’t have rows. With luck, we can stifle this business; but a row would make it anybody’s news. Freddie gets off this time, I’m afraid.”
“He does. I’m sorry.”
“The infernal thing is that the little sweep’s right, you know, Conway. Weareall under suspicion. I don’t suspect anyone myself—not my line. But there’s no getting away from it. Someone did take that damned Talisman.”
“Afraid so. The only hope that I have is that it may have been a practical joke after all, and that the joker was afraid to own up. Trusted to putting the thing back again without being spotted.”
“Possible, of course,” conceded Douglas. “But I can’t identify the prize idiot.”
“Nor can I. Well, take the other thing and see if it leads you any further—theft, I mean. I’m out of it, by pure luck. You’ve all the money you want. Morchard has more than’s good for him. The Scorton woman is rolling in it. I take it that the girls don’t come into question?”
He glanced interrogatively at Douglas, who nodded his agreement.
“Then that leaves the American and Freddie as a residue. Know anything about Wraxall, Douglas?”
“Nix, as I suppose he’d say. He’s a collector, of sorts, and rolling in money, I’ve heard.”
“H’m!” said Westenhanger, pausing for a moment.
“Well, pass Wraxall,” he continued. “That leaves us with Freddie. I don’t like Freddie. I’ve nothing against his morals, for I know nothing about them. I do know he’s hard up, though. But I’ve been hard up myself at times. That doesn’t necessarily make a black mark on one’s record.”
“True,” Douglas agreed. Then after a few seconds he added: “Know the Scots verdictNot Proven, Conway? ‘The accused was discharged with a stain on his character. All saved, bar honour.’ That’s how you feel about Freddie, perhaps?”
“I’m not very friendly. The way that girl was baited to-night was enough to sicken any decent person. But there’s a difference between feeling like that and calling the little beast a thief, you know.”
“Not Proven; that’s so.”
Westenhanger considered for a few moments as though he found it difficult to choose words for what he had to say. At last he put down his pipe.
“There’s one thing, Douglas—that girl has got to be cleared. We’re all mixed up inthataffair, thanks to Freddie’s infernal manœuvres; we can’t shirk responsibility. I don’t know what possessed her to go roaming about the house at that time of night. Still less can I imagine why she couldn’t tell us what she was after. But she’s a straight girl, if ever I saw one, and we simply can’t afford to let things rest as they are. I don’t want to know what she was doing—and I don’t much care. But the only way to clear her is to find out who actually did the trick. It’ll be a stiff business.”
Douglas looked serious.
“Stiff enough, if you ask me. If you want a Watson, I’m your man; but you’ll need to supply the Sherlocking yourself. I simply haven’t the brains for it. The whole affair is a complete mystery—and likely to remain so, for all the help I could give.”
“I’m not hopeful,” confessed Westenhanger at once. “The only detecting I ever did was guessing what cards were in my opponents’ hands. It’s not so much I expect to get anything out, Douglas. I feel one has to turn to and do what one can, or else I shouldn’t be comfortable. That girl’s face wasn’t a happy sight to-night. It’s got rather on my nerves, if you want to know.”
He took up his pipe again. Douglas said nothing, but his face showed that he understood Westenhanger’s account of his feelings.
“What do you make of Wraxall?” Westenhanger demanded, abruptly.
“Decent soul, I thought. Backed us up well in the matter of sitting on Freddie.”
Westenhanger made no comment. Douglas let him smoke in silence for a while before inquiring:
“What do you think?”
“Wraxall was the only one of you who had a complete story ready to account for all his doings during the night. That’s my impression about Wraxall, Douglas.”