It was quite clear, at least to me, that he really didn’t want to leave Crispin alone with Hutchison. I didn’t want to leave Crispin alone with Hutchison, either. I had grave misgivings about Hutchison coming back like this, on his own, without his friends.
But— “It’s all right, Kit,” Crispin said languidly. “Go on up to bed. Darling’s probably waiting for you to tuck her in, anyway.”
I fought back a sniff. Hutchison sniggered. There was a moment’s silence while Christopher took stock of the situation and decided what to do. He probably tried to communicate mentally with Crispin, to register his displeasure at the suggestion, and I’m sure it ran off Crispin’s back like water off the proverbial duck. Eventually he said, reluctantly, “If it’s what you want.”
“I don’t mind you being here, Kit. You know that. But if Hutchison wants privacy, we should give it to him.”
“Fine,” Christopher said. “I’ll see you in the morning?”
“I’ll be here. I don’t imagine Father will be sending out the search party until noon, at the earliest.”
“Goodnight, then,” Christopher said, followed by a polite, “Mr. Hutchison.”
His steps receded towards the foyer door. Crispin waited until it had opened and closed before he turned his attention back to Hutchison. “Have a seat. Another brandy?”
Hutchison must have shaken his head, because nothing happened. And he also didn’t sit, because when Crispin’s voice came back, it was amused. “Prowl the room, by all means. There’s nobody here but you and me. Check behind the telephone screen, there’s a good chap. See? Perfectly empty and safe. So what’s this about? And why wasn’t my cousin welcome to stay for it?”
Hutchison must have been satisfied with his survey of the room, because I heard the noise of springs as he seated himself in one of the chairs. “No offense,” he said, “but I don’t know your cousin. I only know you.”
“And what is it you feel you can tell me that my cousin can’t hear?”
“About Ronnie,” Hutchison said. “I need to tell you about Ronnie.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
“What about Ronnie?”
Crispin’s voice was perfectly level, but he added, “I think I might want another brandy for this after all. Are you sure you don’t want to join me, old chap?”
“Go on, then,” Hutchison acquiesced, and the room was silent for a moment or two, broken only by the faint sounds of Crispin pouring brandy into two glasses. After bringing one to Hutchison, we heard him sit back down in his own chair.
“Sorry, old man. You were saying?”
“It’s not that I think you’re wrong about Dom, old bean,” Hutchison said. “I agree with you. We should get our stories straight, and it makes sense for us to agree that Dom did it.”
“Of course it does.” The room was so silent that when Crispin took a sip of brandy, I could hear him swallow. “You said it yourself, didn’t you? Monty was dead on the floor when you saw him. That’s what you said, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Hutchison said calmly, “that was what I said.”
“And you were only the second one out of the sitting room after Ronnie, so…”
He trailed off, and it sounded quite convincing. The silence that followed was that of a man contemplating an unpleasant possibility, reluctantly and without the courage to ask outright whether his supposition was correct. I’m sure it wasn’t all feigned, either. Crispin really didn’t like the idea that Ronnie Blanton was guilty.
“I thought,” Hutchison said delicately, “since we’re all on the same side now, you should have all the facts.”
“Hutchie…” It was part disbelief, part moan of protest.
“You’ve known Ronnie as long as I have, St George. First term at Eton, right? You know he would never do something like this if he were in his right mind.”
“Ronnie?” Crispin bleated.
“When I left the sitting room, and you and your cousins and Gram, and I went into the hallway, the door to the butler’s pantry stood open. I stuck my head in, and Montrose was on the floor by the butler door. The door into the kitchen, where Dom and Gladys were. Ronnie had the rolling pin in his hand and he was giggling.”
There was an awful silence before— “He was high,” Crispin said heavily.
“As a kite. I don’t think he knew what he was doing. He wouldn’t do something like that in his right mind, St George!”
“No, of course not,” Crispin said. “He isn’t… Ronnie’s not like that.”
