"Now if you please," said Huish. He looked expectantly at Leo. "We'll start with you, Mr. Argyle."
"What do you want to know exactly? You must have my original statement? I shall probably be less accurate now. Exact times are apt to slip one's memory."
"Oh, we realise that. But there's always the chance that some little fact may come to light, something overlooked at the time."
"Isn't it even possible," asked Philip, "that one might see things in better proportion looking back after the lapse of years?"
"It's a possibility, yes," said Huish, turning his head to look at Philip with some interest.
"Intelligent chap," he thought. "I wonder if he's got any ideas of his own about this..."
"Now, Mr. Argyle, if you'll just run through the sequence of events. You'd had tea?"
"Yes. Tea had been in the dining-room at five o'clock as usual. We were all there for it with the exception of Mr. and Mrs. Durrant. Mrs. Durrant took tea for herself and her husband up to their own sitting-room."
"I was even more of a cripple then than I am now," said Philip. "I'd only just got out of hospital."
"Quite so." Huish turned back to Leo. "All of you - being?"
"My wife and myself, my daughter Hester, Miss Vaughan and Miss Lindstrom."
"And then? Just tell me in your own words."
"After tea I came back in here with Miss Vaughan. We were at work upon a chapter of my book on Medieval Economics which I was revising. My wife went to her sitting-room and office, which is on the ground floor. She was, as you know, a very busy woman. She was looking over some plans for a new children's play-ground which she was intending to present to the Council here."
"Did you hear your son Jack's arrival?"
"No. That is, I did not know that it was he. I heard, we both heard, the front-door bell. We did not know who it was."
"Who did you think it was, Mr. Argyle?" Leo looked faintly amused.
"I was in the fifteenth century at the time, not the twentieth. I didn't think at all. It could have been anybody or anything. My wife and Miss Lindstrom and Hester and possibly one of our daily helps would all be downstairs. Nobody," said Leo simply, "ever expected me to answer a bell."
"After that?"
"Nothing. Until my wife came in a good deal later."
"How much later?"
Leo frowned.
"By now I really couldn't tell you. I must have given you my estimate at the time. Half an hour - no, more - perhaps three-quarters."
"We finished tea just after half past five," said Gwenda. "I think it was about twenty minutes to seven when Mrs. Argyle came into the library."
"And she said?"
Leo sighed. He spoke distastefully.
"We have had all this so many times. She said Jacko had been with her, that he was in trouble, that he had been violent and abusive, demanding money and saying that unless he had some money at once it would be a matter of prison. That she had refused definitely to give him a penny. She was worried as to whether she had done right or not."
"Mr. Argyle, may I ask you a question. Why, when the boy made these demands for money, did your wife not call you? Why only tell you afterwards? Did that not seem odd to you?"
"No, it did not."
"It seems to me that that would have been the natural thing to do. You were not - on bad terms?"
"Oh no. It was simply that my wife was accustomed to dealing with all practical decisions single-handed. She would often consult me beforehand as to what I thought and she usually discussed the decisions she had taken with me afterwards. In this particular matter she and I had talked very seriously together about the problem of Jacko - what to do for the best. So far, we had been singularly unfortunate in our handling of the boy. She had paid out very considerable sums of money several times to protect him from the consequences of his actions. We had decided that if there was a next time, it would be best for Jacko to learn the hard way."
"Nevertheless, she was upset?"
"Yes. She was upset. If he had been less violent and threatening, I think she might have been broken down and helped him once more, but his attitude only stiffened her resolution."
"Had Jacko left the house by then?"
"Oh, yes."
"Do you know that of your own knowledge, or did Mrs. Argyle tell you?"
"She told me. She said he had gone away swearing, and threatening to come back, and that he'd said she'd better have some cash ready for him then."
"Were you - this is important - were you alarmed at the thought of the boy's return?"
"Of course not. We were quite used to what I can only call Jacko's bluster." "It never entered your head that he would return and attack her." "No. I told you so at the time. I was dumbfounded."
"And it seems you were quite right," said Huish softly. "It wasn't he who attacked her. Mrs. Argyle left you - when exactly?"
"That I do remember. We've been over it so often. Just before seven - about seven minutes to."
Huish turned to Gwenda Vaughan.
"You confirm that?"
"Yes."
"And the conversation went as Mr. Argyle has just said? You can't add to it? There is nothing he has forgotten?"
"I didn't hear all of it. After Mrs. Argyle had told us about Jacko's demands I thought I'd better remove myself in case they felt it embarrassing to talk freely before me. I went in there -" she pointed to the door at the back of the library -"to the small room where I type. When I heard Mrs. Argyle leave I came back."
"And that was at seven minutes to seven?" "Just before five to seven, yes." "And after that, Miss Vaughan?"
"I asked Mr. Argyle if he wanted to continue work, but he said his chain of thought was interrupted. I asked if there was any more I could do, but he said no. So I cleared up my things and went."
"The time?"
"Five minutes past seven."
"You went downstairs and through the front door?"
"Yes."
"Mrs. Argyle's sitting-room was immediately to the left of the front door?"
"Yes."
"Was the door open?"
"It was not closed - it was about a foot ajar."
"You didn't go inside or say good night to her?"
"No."
"Didn't you usually do so?"
"No. It would have been silly to disturb her at what she was doing, just to say good night."
"If you had gone in - you might have discovered her body lying there dead." Gwenda shrugged her shoulders.
"I suppose so. But I imagine -1 mean we all imagined at the time, that she was killed later. Jacko would hardly have been able to -" She stopped.
"You are still thinking on the lines of Jacko having killed her. But that is not so now. So she might have been there then, dead?"
"I suppose - yes."
"You left the house and went straight home?"
"Yes. My landlady spoke to me when I came in."
"Just so. And you didn't meet anyone on the way - near the house?"
"I don't think so... no." Gwenda frowned. "I can't really remember now... It was cold and dark and this road is a cul-de-sac. I don't think I passed anyone until I came to the Red Lion. There were several people about there."
"Any cars pass you?" Gwenda looked startled.
"Oh, yes, I do remember a car. It splashed my skirt. I had to wash the mud off when I got home."
"What kind of a car?"
"I don't remember. I didn't notice. It passed me just at the entrance to our road. It might have been going to any of the houses."
Huish turned back to Leo.
"You say you heard a ring at the bell some time after your wife left the room?"
"Well -1 think I did. I've never been quite sure."
"What time was that?"
"I've no idea. I didn't look."
"Didn't you think it might be your son Jacko come back?"
"I didn't think. I was - at work again."
"One more point, Mr. Argyle. Did you
have any idea that your son was married?"
"No idea at all."
"His mother didn't know, either? You don't think she knew but had not told you?"
"I'm quite sure she had no idea of such a thing. She would have come to me about it at once. It was the greatest shock to me when the wife turned up the next day. I could hardly believe it when Miss Lindstrom came into this room and said 'There is a young woman downstairs - a girl who says she is Jacko's wife. It can't be true.' She was terribly upset, weren't you, Kirsty?"
"I could not believe it," said Kirsten. "I made her say it twice and then I came up to Mr. Argyle. It seemed incredible."
"You were very kind to her, I understand," said Huish to Leo.
"I did what I could. She's married again, you know. I'm very glad. Her husband seems a nice steady sort of chap."
Huish nodded. Then he turned to Hester.
"Now, Miss Argyle, just tell me again what you did after tea that day."
"I don't remember now," said Hester sulkily. "How can I? It's two years ago. I might have done anything."
"Actually I believe you helped Miss Lindstrom to wash up tea."
"That is quite right," said Kirsten. "And then," she added, "you went upstairs to your bedroom. You were going out later, you remember. You were going to see an amateur performance of 'Waiting for Godot' at the Drymouth Playhouse."
Hester was still looking sullen and uncooperative.
"You've got it all written down," she said to Huish. "Why go on about it?"
"Because you never know what might be helpful. Now then, Miss Argyle, what time did you leave the house?"
"Seven o'clock - or thereabouts."
"Had you heard the altercation between your mother and your brother Jack?"
"No, I didn't hear anything. I was upstairs."
"But you saw Mrs. Argyle before you left the house?"
"Yes. I wanted some money. I was right out. And I remembered the petrol in my car was nearly down to empty. I'd have to fill up on the way to Drymouth. So when I was ready to start I went in to Mother and asked her for some money -just a couple of pounds - that's all I needed."
"And she gave them to you?"
"Kirsty gave them to me."
Huish looked slightly surprised.
"I don't remember that in the original statement."
"Well, that's what happened," said Hester defiantly. "I went in and said could I have some cash, and Kirsten heard me from the hall and called out that she'd got some and would give it to me. She was just going out herself. And Mother said, 'Yes, get it from Kirsty.'"
"I was just going down to the Women's Institute with some books on Flower Arrangement," said Kirsten. "I knew Mrs. Argyle was busy and didn't want to be disturbed."
Hester said in an aggrieved voice: "What does it matter who gave me the money? You wanted to know when I last saw Mother alive. That was when. She was sitting at the table poring over a lot of plans. And I said I wanted cash, and then Kirsten called out that she'd give it to me. I took it from her and then went into Mother's room again and said good night to Mother and she said she hoped I'd enjoy the play, and to be careful driving. She always said that. And then I went out to the garage and got the car out."
"And Miss Lindstrom."
"Oh, she went off as soon as she'd given me the money."
Kirsten Lindstrom said quickly: "Hester passed me in the car just as I got to the end of our road. She must have started almost immediately after me. She went on up the hill to the main road whilst I turned left to the village."
Hester opened her mouth as though to speak, then quickly shut it again.
Huish wondered. Was Kirsten Lindstrom trying to establish that Hester would not have had time to commit the crime? Wasn't it possible that instead of Hester's saying a quiet good night to Mrs. Argyle, there had been an argument -a quarrel, and that Hester had struck her down?
Smoothly he turned to Kirsten and said: "Now, Miss Lindstrom, let's have your account of what you remember."
She was nervous. Her hands twisted uncomfortably.
"We had tea. It was cleared away. Hester helped me. Then she went upstairs. Then Jacko came."
"You heard him?"
"Yes. I let him in. He said he had lost his key. He went straight in to his mother. He said at once, 'I'm in a jam. You've got to get me out of it' I did not hear any more. I went back into the kitchen. There were things to prepare for supper."
"Did you hear him leave?"
"Yes, indeed. He was shouting. I came from the kitchen. He was standing there in the front hall - very angry, shouting out that he'd come back, that his mother had better have the money ready for him. Or else! That is what he said: 'Or else!' It was a threat."
"And then?"
"He went off banging the door. Mrs. Argyle came out in the hall. She was very pale and upset. She said to me, 'You heard?'
"I said: 'He is in trouble?'
"She nodded. Then she went upstairs to the library to Mr. Argyle. I laid the table for supper, and then I went up to put my outdoor things on. The Women's Institute were having a Flower Arrangement Competition next day. There were some Flower Arrangement books we had promised them."
"You took the books to the Institute - what time did you return to the house?"
"It must have been about half past seven. I let myself in with my key. I went in at once to Mrs. Argyle's room - to give her a message of thanks and a note - she was at the desk, her head forward on her hands. And there was the poker, flung down - and drawers of the bureau pulled out. There had been a burglar, I thought. She had been licked. And I was right. Now you know that I was right. It was a burglar - someone from outside!"
"Someone whom Mrs. Argyle herself let in?"
"Why not?" said Kirsten defiantly. "She was kind - always very kind. And she was not afraid - of people or things. Besides it is not as though she were alone in the house. There were others - her husband, Gwenda, Mary. She had only to call out."
"But she didn't call out," Huish pointed out.
"No. Because whoever it was must have told her some very plausible story. She would always listen. And so, she sat down again at the desk - perhaps to look for her cheque-book - because she was unsuspicious - so he had the chance to snatch up the poker and hit her. Perhaps, even, he did not mean to kill her. He just wanted to stun her and look for money and jewellery and so. He didn't look very far - just turned out a few drawers.
"Perhaps he heard sounds in the house - or lost his nerve. Or found, perhaps, that he had killed her. And leaned forward."
Her eyes were both frightened and pleading. "It must have been like that - it must!"
He was interested in her insistence. Was it fear for herself? She could have killed her employer there and then, pulling out the drawers to lend verisimilitude to the idea of a burglar. Medical evidence could not put the time of death closer than between seven and seven thirty.
"It seems as though it must be so," he acquiesced pleasantly. A faint sigh of relief escaped her. She sat back. He turned to the Durrants.
"You didn't hear anything, either of you?" "Not a thing."
"I took a tray with tea up to our room," said Mary. "It's rather shut off from the rest of the house. We were there until we heard someone screaming. It was Kirsten. She'd just found Mother dead."
"You didn't leave the room at all until then?"
"No." Her limpid gaze met his. "We were playing picquet."
Philip wondered why he felt slightly discomposed. Polly was doing what he had told her to do. Perhaps it was the perfection of her manner, calm, unhurried, carrying complete conviction.
"Polly, love, you're a wonderful liar!" he thought.
"And I, Superintendent," he said, "was then, and am still, quite incapable of any comings and goings."
"But you're a good deal better, aren't you, Mr. Durrant," said the superintendent cheerfully. "One of these days we'll have you walking again."
"It's a long job."
Huish t
urned towards the other two members of the family who up to now had sat without making a sound. Micky had sat with his arms folded and a faint sneer on his face. Tina, small and graceful, leaned back in her chair, her eyes moving occasionally from face to face.