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I suppose it did.
“I’ve been trying to get the butler to talk. He might have overheard some of the conversation between Colonel Protheroe and Lestrange. Butlers do sometimes. But he swears he hasn’t the least idea of what the conversation was about. By the way, he got the sack through it. The Colonel went for him, being angry at his having let her in. The butler retorted by giving notice. Says he didn’t like the place anyway and had been thinking of leaving for some time.”
“Really.”
“So that gives us another person who had a grudge against the Colonel.”
“You don’t seriously suspect the man—what’s his name, by the way?”
“His name’s Reeves, and I don’t say I do suspect him. What I say is, you never know. I don’t like that soapy, oily manner of his.”
I wonder what Reeves would say of Inspector Slack’s manner.
“I’m going to question the chauffeur now.”
“Perhaps, then,” I said, “you’ll give me a lift in your car. I want a short interview with Mrs. Protheroe.”
“What about?”
“The funeral arrangements.”
“Oh!” Inspector Slack was slightly taken aback. “The inquest’s tomorrow, Saturday.”
“Just so. The funeral will probably be arranged for Tuesday.”
Inspector Slack seemed to be a little ashamed of himself for his brusqueness. He held out an olive branch in the shape of an invitation to be present at the interview with the chauffeur, Manning.
Manning was a nice lad, not more than twenty-five or -six years of age. He was inclined to be awed by the Inspector.
“Now, then, my lad,” said Slack, “I want a little information from you.”
“Yes, sir,” stammered the chauffeur. “Certainly, sir.”
If he had committed the murder himself he could not have been more alarmed.
“You took your master to the village yesterday?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What time was that?”
“Five thirty.”
“Mrs. Protheroe went too?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You went straight to the village?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You didn’t stop anywhere on the way?”
“No, sir.”
“What did you do when you got there?”
“The Colonel got out and told me he wouldn’t want the car again. He’d walk home. Mrs. Protheroe had some shopping to do. The parcels were put in the car. Then she said that was all, and I drove home.”
“Leaving her in the village?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What time was that?”
“A quarter past six, sir. A quarter past exactly.”
“Where did you leave her?”
“By the church, sir.”
“Had the Colonel mentioned at all where he was going?”
“He said something about having to see the vet … something to do with one of the horses.”
“I see. And you drove straight back here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“There are two entrances to Old Hall, by the South Lodge and by the North Lodge. I take it that going to the village you would go by the South Lodge?”
“Yes, sir, always.”
“And you came back the same way?”
“Yes, sir.”
“H’m. I think that’s all. Ah! Here’s Miss Protheroe.”
Lettice drifted towards us.
“I want the Fiat, Manning,” she said. “Start her for me, will you?”
“Very good, miss.”
He went towards a two-seater and lifted the bonnet.
“Just a minute, Miss Protheroe,” said Slack. “It’s necessary that I should have a record of everybody’s movements yesterday afternoon. No offence meant.”
Lettice stared at him.
“I never know the time of anything,” she said.
“I understand you went out soon after lunch yesterday?”
She nodded.
“Where to, please?”
“To play tennis.”
“Who with?”
“The Hartley Napiers.”
“At Much Benham?”
“Yes.”
“And you returned?”
“I don’t know. I tell you I never know these things.”
“You returned,” I said, “about seven thirty.”
“That’s right,” said Lettice. “In the middle of the shemozzle. Anne having fits and Griselda supporting her.”
“Thank you, miss,” said the Inspector. “That’s all I want to know.”
“How queer,” said Lettice. “It seems so uninteresting.”
She moved towards the Fiat.
The Inspector touched his forehead in a surreptitious manner.
“A bit wanting?” he suggested.
“Not in the least,” I said. “But she likes to be thought so.”
“Well, I’m off to question the maids now.”
One cannot really like Slack, but one can admire his energy.
We parted company and I inquired of Reeves if I could see Mrs. Protheroe. “She is lying down, sir, at the moment.”
“Then I’d better not disturb her.”
“Perhaps if you would wait, sir, I know that Mrs. Protheroe is anxious to see you. She was saying as much at luncheon.”
He showed me into the drawing room, switching on the electric lights since the blinds were down.
“A very sad business all this,” I said.
“Yes, sir.” His voice was cold and respectful.
I looked at him. What feelings were at work under that impassive demeanour. Were there things that he knew and could have told us? There is nothing so inhuman as the mask of the good servant.
“Is there anything more, sir?”
Was there just a hint of anxiety to be gone behind that correct expression?
“There’s nothing more,” I said.
I had a very short time to wait before Anne Protheroe came to me. We discussed and settled a few arrangements and then:
“What a wonderfully kind man Dr. Haydock is!” she exclaimed.
“Haydock is the best fellow I know.”
“He has been amazingly kind to me. But he looks very sad, doesn’t he?”
It had never occurred to me to think of Haydock as sad. I turned the idea over in my mind.
“I don’t think I’ve ever noticed it,” I said at last.
“I never have, until today.”
“One’s own troubles sharpen one’s eyes sometimes,” I said.
