Mansell?"

Paul looked at him for a moment under his lashes.

"Deny it? No, I didn't say I denied it. But it has nothing to do with this case, I can a.s.sure you. As a matter of fact, the raison d'etre is so simple--"

"I should be obliged to you if you would tell me what the raison d'etre was," interrupted Hannasyde.

"Oh, certainly! I've no objection," said Paul. "As I told you before, I was due at a tennis party at Brotherton Manor that Sat.u.r.day. I stayed talking to Mrs. Trent longer than I meant to. I had to stop at Cliff House to pick up my racket, that's all."

"Why?"

"Why? Because I'd left it there, of course. If you don't believe me, you can go and ask my sister, Mrs. Pemble, or her husband. They were both there."

"Both where?"

"At Cliff House, the day before Silas Kane's death. There was a small tennis party-well, hardly a party: just ourselves, and Patricia Allison. My people haven't got a tennis court, and Silas Kane let us use the ones at his place whenever we wanted to. On that particular occasion it came on to rain just before tea, and we all went into the summerhouse-sort of glorified sun-parlour arrangement; I dare say you've seen it-hoping that it would clear up. Played silly games, you know. Up Jenkins, and Rummy, and that sort of thing, to pa.s.s the time. The rain kept on, and we all went up to the house for tea. I happened to leave my racket in the summerhouse: forgot about it, you know. The weather didn't clear up, and in the end we-my sister, and Pemble and myself-drove home without returning to the summerhouse. I remembered my racket when I got back to Portlaw, but I knew where I'd left it, and that it would be perfectly safe and dry. I knew I'd put it in its press, too, which was all that mattered. Naturally I didn't go chasing back to Cliff House for it. Then all this business of Silas Kane dying, and then Clement, came, and what with one thing and another I never thought about the racket again till I had to play tennis at Brotherton Manor on the tenth. Of course, I remembered at once where the thing was, and I simply picked it up on my way. That's all. Not really interesting, is it?"

"Do you mean, Mr. Mansell, that you just walked through the grounds to the summerhouse without anyone's knowledge, abstracted your racket, and came away again?"

"That's it. What do you suppose I'd do? Drive up to the front door and send the butler to get the darned thing?"

"I should suppose that a more usual form of procedure would have been to have called first at the house to ask permission to get your racket," replied Hannasyde.

Paul brushed that aside with one of his airy gestures. "Quite unnecessary, I a.s.sure you. I know the Kanes so well-I mean, I've always had the run of the place, pretty well. I don't say that, if I'd had twenty minutes to waste, I mightn't have done the polite as you suggest, but the point is, I was late already. You must be fairly familiar with Cliff House by this time. Do you know where the tennis courts are situated? They're a day's march from the house-dam' silly place to have put them, I always thought-but that's beside the point. The point being that, if you nip in the tradesmen's entrance, and turn sharp to your left down the first path you come to, you reach the summerhouse in about half the time it takes you to start from the house. Anything more I can tell you?"

"Yes," said Hannasyde. "Why did you conceal this perfectly innocent errand?"

"Oh, come, Superintendent, I don't know that I concealed it!"

"Pardon me; but when I asked you for a precise account of your movements on the afternoon of August tenth, you not only made no mention of this episode, but you must obviously have misstated the time of your leaving Mrs. Trent's house after lunch. No matter how near to the side entrance of Cliff House the tennis courts may be, you could not, if you left Mrs. Trent at 3.25, have stopped at Cliff House, collected your property, and still have contrived to arrive at Brotherton Manor at 3.45."

Paul smoked for a moment or two in uneasy silence. Then he said: "Well, if you must know, I got the wind up a bit. Silly of me, of course; but when I got the news of Clement's having been shot, and realised I must have been actually in the grounds when it happened, I saw that my perfectly ordinary behaviour might strike an outsider as being rather odd. Mind you, if I'd heard or seen anything I'd have come forward at once: that goes without saying. But I knew my being there had absolutely no bearing on the case, so I lay low about it. I don't say it was altogether wise of me, but--"

"It was the very reverse of wise, Mr. Mansell. You must see for yourself that it places you in an extremely invidious position, to say the least of it. Can you bring anyone besides your sister forward to corroborate your statement that you left your racket in the summerhouse on the day of this tennis party?"

"Oh Lord, yes!" said Paul with an a.s.sumption of nonchalance. "Mrs. Trent knew that I had to stop at Cliff House for my racket, because I told her so."

"You might ask yourself, with advantage, Mr. Mansell, whether, in view of Mrs. Trent's instant corroboration of a part of your original deposition which you now admit to have been false, her further testimony is likely to carry much weight with me," said Hannasyde unpleasantly.

"Well, I don't know whom you expect me to refer you to," said Paul. "Miss Allison might remember the incident; but it's quite possible she never knew anything about it. I didn't make a song and dance about having left the dam' racket in the summerhouse. She probably didn't notice that I didn't take it away with me. I dare say it sounds fishy to you, but I can't help that. And unless there's anything more you want to ask me--"

"There is," said Hannasyde. "Will you tell me, please, where you were between eleven o'clock and twelve this morning?"

"Look here, what on earth's it got to do with you where I was?" demanded Paul, his temper fraying a little.

"Have you any objection to telling me where you were, Mr. Mansell?"

"I don't know that I've any objection, but--"

"Then let me advise you to answer my question."

Paul said with a flash of anger: "d.a.m.n it, I'm not bound to answer you!"

"Certainly not," said Hannasyde. "Am I to put it on record that you decline to answer me?"

"Good Lord, what a fuss to make-I don't mind answering you, but I dislike being interrogated without any apparent rhyme or reason!"

"Very well, Mr. Mansell; then I will tell you that an event has occurred which renders it necessary for me to check up on the movements during that hour of anyone connected with this case.

Where were you?"

"I don't know. Here, I expect. Where should I be?"

"I must request you to be more precise, Mr. Mansell. You are surely able to recall what your movements were this morning?"

"I don't sit and watch the clock! I've got something better to do. I did what I usually do-attended to my correspondence first, dictated some letters to my secretary--"

Hannasyde glanced round. "Does your secretary work in this room?"

"Of course not. She works in there," replied Paul, nodding towards a door communicating with an adjoining apartment.

"When did she leave this room this morning to type your letters?"

"Oh, round about ten-thirty! I don't know for certain."

"Did she return at any time between eleven and twelve?"

"No, I don't think so. In fact, I'm sure she didn't."

"What did you do?"

"Got on with my work, of course."

"In this room?"

"Mostly. I went down to the packing room once, and into the ledger department. That's all."

Hannasyde got up and walked over to the window. It overlooked the yard below, and beyond the cover of the lean-to shelter, built at right angles to the house, he could just see the tail of Paul Mansell's car protruding. The body of the car was hidden by the low roof above it.

Paul Mansell watched him with a shade of uneasiness in his face. "What's the matter? What are you getting at?" he asked.

Hannasyde turned his head. "I see that you look out on to the yard," he said. "Did you see Mr.

James Kane park his car there this morning?"

"No, I can't say I did. I don't hang out of the window to gape at every car I hear in the yard. Look here, what's this all about?"

Hannasyde came back to the desk. "Upon his way back to Cliff House, after his interview with your father, Mr. Kane met with an accident," he said.

Paul Mansell half started to his feet, "Good G.o.d, you don't mean he's dead?"

"No," replied Hannasyde. "Mr. Kane escaped injury. But investigation has disclosed the fact that the accident was caused by the loosening of one of the nuts holding the left ball joint of the track rod of his car in position."

Paul stared at him, his brows knit. "The inference being that I monkeyed about with his blasted car?"

"Not necessarily," said Hannasyde in his quiet way.

"I should dam' well hope not!" Paul said angrily. "What reason have I got to try and kill Jim Kane? Or his cousin Clement, for that matter! I think it's about the limit that you policemen should have the neck to suspect me! Do you suppose I'd be fool enough to murder a couple of men-oh, three, isn't it?-three men, just to put through a potty business deal?"

"There is no need for such heat, Mr. Mansell."

"Well, I think there is! It's about time the air was cleared a bit. You needn't imagine I haven't realised what you've been getting at ever since you came down here! What's more, I know who put you up to it! It was that stagy fool Roberts, trying to do the giddy detective all over the shop!"

The door opened, and Joseph Mansell came into the room, looking worried and a little frightened. "What's all this? What's all this?" he said. "Paul, my boy, really! I could hear your voice in my office! No need to shout-no need to shout, you know! Good afternoon, Superintendent. Now, what is the trouble?"

"Oh, nothing!" Paul said, sinking back in his chair. "Superintendent Hannasyde is just accusing me of trying to murder Jim Kane, that's all!"

"Murder Jim? Good G.o.d, what's this, Superintendent?"

"Your son is labouring under a misapprehension, Mr. Mansell. I have accused him of nothing.

All I have asked him to do is to account for his movements this morning, while Mr. Kane was in your office."

"Well, well, there's no harm in that: you have to do your duty. But what's this about Jim Kane?"

Hannasyde explained briefly. Joe looked very much shocked, said feebly that he felt sure there must be a mistake, and added that surely the superintendent could not seriously suspect his son of having had anything to do with the accident.

"That's where you're wrong," said Paul mockingly. "He thinks I killed Clement, and probably Silas too. Now I'm rounding off the job with Jim. And what I say is that such a cracked-brained idea would never have come into his head if that meddlesome know-all Roberts hadn't put it there!"

"Paul, my boy, Paul! Gently! I'm sure the superintendent doesn't think any such thing, or Roberts either. You're letting all this worry get on your nerves!"

"Well, and if I am, is it surprising?" retorted Paul. "I've had detectives nosing around till I'm sick of the sight of them, and, on top of that, I've had Roberts d.o.g.g.i.ng my footsteps and coming as near to saying bang out that I murdered Clement as he dare!" He swung round in his chair to face Hannasyde and added venomously: "If you want to chase a wild goose, try him for a change! I've had enough of it! He had just as much motive as I had for killing Clement!"

"Paul!" said his father warningly. "Now, that's quite enough! There's no need to talk in that wild fashion. You know perfectly well that Roberts couldn't possibly have killed poor Clement, even if he had had a motive, which really, my boy, he hadn't. Must keep calm, you know! The superintendent's only doing his duty, after all."

Paul seemed to recollect himself. He flushed and muttered that he was sorry, but that the case was getting on his nerves a bit. Hannasyde, realising that nothing further could be elicited from him, took his leave and left the room in company with Joe Mansell, who went with him to the head of the staircase, trying all the way to excuse his son's outburst.

From Kane and Mansell's offices Hannasyde proceeded to the Cedars, Joe Mansell's comfortable Victorian house situated in a wide avenue leading off the Esplanade. He found the household undergoing the doubtful pleasure of having the children down after tea.

This was a rite enjoyed only by Betty, but her deep-seated conviction that her mother, her husband, and any afternoon visitor who might have been unwise enough to call at the Cedars during her stay there were all filled with an overpowering desire to see the children made it impossible even for so forthright a lady as Agatha Mansell to protest against the daily invasion of her drawing room.

It would have hurt Mrs. Pemble's feelings too much. So the children, washed, brushed and dressed in their best clothes, burst into the drawing room regularly at five o'clock every day, loudly and insistently demanding sweetmeats and entertainment.

When Superintendent Hannasyde sent in his card, with a request for a few moments' speech with Mrs. Pemble, Jennifer and Peter, having been coaxed into shaking hands with two visitors and prompted to reply civilly to a number of the fatuous questions invariably addressed to the young by strangers, were engaged in the simple but enjoyable game of launching themselves bodily upon the sofa, mauling the cushions, scrambling off again, and repeating the performance. Their mother at first exclaimed in a shocked voice: "Oh, I can't come now!" but upon reflection consented to tear herself away from her offspring "just for a minute, sweethearts!"

This time limit, if adhered to, would have suited Hannasyde very well. He had not antic.i.p.ated that his interview would occupy more than five minutes at the maximum, but he realised, within thirty seconds of making Mrs. Pemble's acquaintance, that she was not one of those who could give a plain answer to a plain question. It was indeed some time before he was given an opportunity of asking his question. He had first to gather as best he might from a confused rush of words that Mrs.

Pemble had been playing with her children; that she always played with them after tea, and of course at other times too; that she simply couldn't imagine why he should wish to see her; that she knew simply nothing about anything; that she could only spare him a minute; that she thought the whole affair simply too frightful for words; that she was simply trying to put it out of her mind; and, finally, that she was terribly highly strung, though she made a point of simply never talking about herself.

Superintendent Hannasyde, who had not had any tea, felt a trifle dazed by these eager confidences but managed to break in on them and to put his question.

Did Mrs. Pemble recall what her brother had done with his tennis racket upon the last occasion when he had played tennis at Cliff House, the day before Silas Kane's death?

By the time Betty had succeeded in recalling the occasion, which she did by the employment of such landmarks as the-day-Jennifer-had-a-bilious-attack, or the-day-Peter-fell-downstairs, her husband had come into the room and was able to give Hannasyde a prompt answer, "Yes, rather!" he said. "He left it in the summerhouse. I remember his saying so on the way home."

This firmness had the effect of sobering Mrs. Pemble. She said: "Oh yes, of course! I remember perfectly! We couldn't go back for it, because I'd promised the children I'd be home in time to tuck them up in bed, hadn't I, Clive?"

"Thank you," said Hannasyde. "That is all I wanted to know."

"If only there was anything else I could tell you I should be simply delighted," said Betty earnestly. "I mean, I think it's so appalling-it worries me frightfully, doesn't it, Clive?"

"Yes, rather!" said her dutiful helpmate.

Hannasyde thanked her, evaded an invitation to tell her what he had discovered, and departed.

Mr. and Mrs. Pemble returned to the drawing room, and in the intervals of playing with her children Mrs. Pemble discussed exhaustively the various causes which might account for the superintendent's strange question. When the children had been removed, under protest, by their nurse, she went away to invite Rosemary Kane, over the telephone, to motor to the Cedars after dinner for a nice, cosy talk.

Rosemary, undeterred by her oft-stated conviction that Joseph or Paul Mansell had murdered her husband, at once accepted this invitation, with the result that the rest of the party at Cliff House were able to spend an evening of comparative peace. Lady Harte showed Emily the snapshots she had taken in the Congo; Sir Adrian read a book; Jim and Patricia played billiards; and Timothy vanished on secret business of his own.

When Rosemary returned she found that Emily had already been carried up to bed, and that the others were on the point of following her. Asked whether she had spent a pleasant evening, she said that it had been a relief to get away from the atmosphere of Cliff House, but that she and Betty Pemble were on different planes.

Shortly before one o'clock Sir Adrian, whose habit it was to read far into the night, laid down his book and sat up in bed, listening intently. After a moment he got up, put on his exotic dressing gown, and went softly out on to the corridor, armed with a torch. The house seemed to be in darkness. He walked down the pa.s.sage to his stepson's room and very quietly opened the door. He took one step into the room, and suddenly the silence of the room was rent by the shrill ringing of what seemed to be innumerable bells.

"Good G.o.d!" exclaimed Sir Adrian, annoyed.

Jim woke with a start and snapped on his bedside light. "What the blazes?-- Hullo, Adrian!

What's all the row about?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," replied Sir Adrian. "I came to tell you that I think someone is moving about downstairs, but I imagine whoever it may have been has by this time made good his escape. Will these bells never stop ringing?"

"Blast that infernal boy!" swore Jim, getting out of bed. "You bet this is his doing!"

The noise had by this time roused everyone in the house but Timothy. Lady Harte, Patricia, Rosemary, and a group of sleepy and scared servants all cl.u.s.tered on to the corridor, demanding to know what had happened, and from Emily's room came the sound of her voice calling to Miss Allison. While Patricia went to rea.s.sure the old lady, Jim located the cause of the disturbance, which proved to be an ingenious burglar alarm laid under the sheepskin mat before his bedroom door. It did not take him long to still the clamour, and in a few moments Rosemary was able to uncover her ears and to ask in an injured voice who was responsible for making such an unnecessary din.

"Timothy, of course," replied Jim. "And to think I gave him the money for it!"

"Really, I begin to think that boy may go a long way!" cried Lady Harte, her maternal pride aroused. "I call it extremely clever of him-much better than anything the police have done! What set it off?"

"I did," answered Sir Adrian. "I fancied I heard someone moving about under my room and came to wake Jim. It was not my purpose, however, to wake the entire household."

At this moment Ogle came up the front stairs, her hair in two plaits, a red-flannel dressing gown girt about her with a cord, and a steaming cup in her hand. "Who's making this outlandish noise?" she demanded angrily. "Frightening the mistress out of her senses, I'll be bound!"

"Have you been prowling about downstairs?" asked Lady Harte severely.

"No, my lady, I have not! Prowling, indeed! I've been making a cup of Ovaltine for the mistress.

She can't sleep, and no wonder, is what I say! Such goings-on!" She swept by the group on the pa.s.sage and stalked into Emily's room.