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He hesitated, and then said: ‘Is there anything in that, do you think?’
The backward jerk of his head might have been taken to indicate almost anything in the street, but Lady Dering did not pretend to misunderstand him. ‘My dear man, that’s what bowled me over! Of course, I had begun to have a faint suspicion, but I wasn’t sure till this morning. I used to think he was rather attracted by Mary, but there’s no question of that now!’
‘Do you mind?’ he asked abruptly.
‘I don’t know. It isn’t what I’d have chosen for him, though in some ways I quite see – well, never mind! But all this horrid scandal! I can’t think what my husband will say!’
‘I shouldn’t worry about the scandal. Neither of the girls has anything to do with that.’
‘Well, I wish it could be cleared up. Do you know if the police are any nearer to reaching a solution?’
‘No, I’m afraid I know nothing. Hugh seems to be the one the Inspector from London has taken to his heart. Doesn’t he know anything?’
‘If he does, he hasn’t told me. I shouldn’t think the Scotland Yard man would take him into his confidence. I haven’t met him: is he any good?’
‘It’s hard to say. He doesn’t give away much. We shall have to wait for results.’
This was what Inspector Hemingway was doing, somewhat to the surprise of the local Superintendent, who told Sergeant Wake that he couldn’t for the life of him make out what kind of game his chief was playing.
‘If you were to ask me,’ he said severely, ‘I should say you’d enough material to work on right under your nose here, without going off on any wild-goose chases. However, doubtless I’m wrong.’
Sergeant Wake did not consider it incumbent upon him to deliver any opinion on this point. After a great deal of painstaking research, he had succeeded in bringing to light one witness, in the shape of a twelve-year-old boy, who had seen a white sports-car, with black wings, upon the road to Kershaw on Sunday afternoon. The boy’s notions of time were too vague to be trusted, nor had he observed the white car’s driver; but he seemed to be quite sure that the car was travelling towards Kershaw, a circumstance which certainly tallied with Prince Varasashvili’s story.
‘What’s more,’ said Hemingway, when this was reported to him, ‘it isn’t likely there’s more than one white sports-car with black wings in this district. I reckon that lets his Highness out. If he wants to go away, he can; but get his address, in case of accidents.’
‘He told Inspector Cook he hadn’t got one,’ said Wake dubiously.
‘Then he’d better think one up!’ said Hemingway.
The Prince, however, discovered disconsolately flicking over the pages of a book in the doctor’s pleasant library, was so relieved to hear that his presence in Stilhurst was no longer necessary, that he made no bones at all about divulging his address, but informed Sergeant Wake that he had a pied-à-terre in a private hotel in Bloomsbury. The Sergeant wrote it down, and the Prince said that for himself he would be very glad to be in London aga
in. ‘I find it does not suit me, this English country life,’ he announced. ‘One stifles, in fact! There is no conversation; it is not amusing.’
But when he informed his host of his imminent departure, nothing could have exceeded the grace with which he assured him that these days spent under his roof would remain in his memory as some of the most pleasant in his whole life.
The doctor said something conventionally civil; and, in answer to an anxious inquiry, advised the Prince most strongly not to adventure his person within the precincts of Palings.
‘But it is absurd!’ the Prince said. ‘It is seen that I had nothing to do with Carter’s death! Rather it is Mr Steel whom the police suspect, is it not so?’
‘I really can’t say,’ replied Chester stiffly.
‘I wash my hands of the affair!’ said the Prince. ‘But I must tell you, since you have been to me so extremely kind, that if it is Mr Steel whom the police suspect, I must be glad, for he is not, after all, de nous autres, and I have had some fears that you, my friend, might suffer a little unpleasantness.’
The doctor looked up quickly. ‘I?’
‘But, yes!’ smiled the Prince. ‘An absurdity, you say, but I find that your English police are very stupid, what you call thickheaded. Ah, pardon! It is ridiculous, without sense! Yet when one considers how I have been suspected, for no reason, except that I was out in Vicky’s auto, one must be prepared for the police to suspect you, who were also not at home.’
‘I was out on a case,’ said Chester, his eyes stern under his frowning brows.
The Prince made a deprecatory gesture. ‘But of course! Do I not know it? It is merely that these policemen—’
‘Nor,’ interrupted Chester, ‘do I know what conceivable motive I could have had for murdering one of my patients!’
‘My friend!’ The Prince flung up his hands. ‘I am sure you had none! I am sorry that I spoke of it, but indeed it seemed to me that you must have thought of it yourself. It is forgotten! Do not fear that I shall speak of it!’
‘If you’re wise, you won’t,’ said Chester grimly. ‘I could hardly afford to let such a statement go unchallenged. We have a law of libel in this country.’
‘Absurd!’ murmured the Prince. ‘You mistake me, I assure you! Without doubt, the police know you too well to concern themselves with your movements.’
