“That’s what I thought,” said the chief constable. “He didn’t exactly come to call, though. He turned up when the Burchards were out shooting. The gamekeeper says he kind of stuck himself in Burchard’s way, grinning and impudent, and Burchard didn’t seem to recognise him till the fellow said who he was. ‘ Forgotten me, have you?’ he said. ‘I don’t think.’ And he turned round on Mrs. Burchard. ‘I’m Arnold, madam. Mr. Burchard’s old valet. I just want a few words with him.’ Then Burchard told the keeper to run the fellow off the place, and took Mrs. Burchard away, and Arnold called after him, ‘All right. All right. I’ll get back on you and your ruddy woman, you swine!’; and the keeper hustled him off. He didn’t utter any more, only to curse a bit. Well, there you are. I’ve asked Mrs. Burchard about it, and what she says just tallies with the keeper’s story. She didn’t recognise the man at all; never knew him, and Burchard just said to her the fellow was an infernal rogue. They went back to the house, which took ‘em half an hour or so, and Burchard was laughing about her bad shooting and talking about the gun, and when they got back he said he’d have a look at it, and he went upstairs, and the next thing she knew was the butler asking where he was. You see, there was time enough for Arnold to get back and have a snap shot. So I’m having a hunt for Mr. Arnold.”
“Yes. We want him,” Reggie murmured. “Presence of Mr. Arnold may be one of the factors. Strikin’ repetition. Burchard and his Arnold and Mrs. Healy get together and there’s a robbery. Mrs. Healy and Arnold reappear with Burchard and there’s a death. I wonder. Mrs. Burchard also bein’ present on each occasion, single or married. Yes. Mr. Arnold is required. However. We will now call this a day. Body been taken to Wanchester, what? I’ll put up in Wanchester too. Are you leaving any men here?”
“I hadn’t thought of it.” The chief constable stared.
“Oh. I should.”
“What, you mean Arnold’s still at large?”
Reggie’s eyelids drooped. “That is so. Yes. Where are the ladies sleepin’?”
“Oh, Mrs. Burchard’s moved out of her room; naturally she didn’t want to sleep next door to where her husband was killed. I don’t know about Mrs. Healy. But we needn’t frighten them. I’ll have the house watched.”
“Yes. I should like a man inside,” said Reggie. “You never know.”
Underwood had not spoken, but through all the talk watched Mr. Fortune with expectant attention, like a dog eager for the sign to act. “What about me, sir?” he said quickly.
“All right, you take that on,” the chief constable answered. “I’ll put a patrol outside.” He and his superintendent went off to give their orders.
Underwood grinned at Reggie. “What’s the idea, Mr. Fortune?”
“Primary duty, watch the room. Secondary, pick up whatever may be going.”
“Meaning anything in particular?”
“Association of the butler’s ideas. When did he smell powder? Where did he smell powder?”
“I get you,” said Underwood, with a frown of puzzled intelligence.
“You think so? “Reggie’s round face was plaintive. “I wonder. Good night. I’ll be back in the morning.”
He was so early that he surprised Underwood, who started up from a chair in the gallery. “Hallo, sir. Have you put off the post mortem?”
“Oh, no. No. All over. Simple job. He was killed by a twenty - bore shot - gun. Charge didn’t spread till it entered his face. Muzzle of gun must have been within two or three feet of his head but not quite close: no scorching or stain. Direction of shot, slightly upward from base of ear. And the gun has a very soft pull. That’s all. I’ve told the chief constable.”
“Queer, isn’t it? ” said Underwood. “A bit like suicide or accident, but not very like. You’d expect the muzzle to be right up against his face for either.”
“Yes, you would. But it might not have been. No certainty. Bafflin’ case. I don’t like it, Underwood. I don’t like it at all. However. That’s all we shall get from the body and the gun. The rest is here. What are you going to tell me? Had a good night?”
“It was all quiet. Nothing doing. But I picked up some funny stuff this morning. This wasn’t the first mysterious death they’ve had in this room, Mr. Fortune. There was a lady found dead here a hundred years ago. Died in her sleep, she did; no cause ever discovered. They talk about a broken heart, because her husband was away from her for a night or two. I ask you! Even if she was a young bride! Burchard was a young bridegroom, wasn’t he? The lady was found locked in, too, so the story goes. The servants are all windy about it, talking about a curse on the room.”
“Yes. They would. I know the story. That’s why I left you here last night.” Underwood’s eyes, more than ever like a wise dog’s, gave him a look of respectful, eager enquiry. “No. No. I can’t tell you what I mean. I’m not sure. What’s the state of feeling about Mr. Burchard and Mrs. Burchard and Mrs. Healy and all?”
“Nothing to signify. They love Mrs. Burchard, those I’ve talked to. They rather shut up about Burchard - I should say he wasn’t a gentleman - but no sign of bad blood. Mrs. Healy - well, I haven’t heard anything.”
“All normal. Except Mrs. Healy’s presence. What about the butler?”
“Well, that is rather queer. He’s no fool, and I should say he’s straight. He thinks he smelt powder as he came upstairs. He sticks to that; couldn’t swear, of course, but he’s got it fixed in his head. And yet the doors of the room were locked.”
“Yes. Curious and interesting. You didn’t put that to him.”
“Not me,” Underwood grinned. “I saw it was your point all right.”
“Good. Now we’ll try to see what it points to. Shut the door.”
Underwood stood against it and watched Reggie inspect the panelling. His methods seemed to Underwood inconsequent. He approached first the carving of the burning bush and the angel. To the angel’s eye he gave a long examination by smell and touch as well as sight. Then he stood back from it and surveyed that side of the room as a whole. Finally he dropped on hands and knees to crawl along that side and peer and feel at the lower part of the panelling.
With a sigh he rose; with a gloomy smile he contemplated Underwood. “I don’t know what you’re after, sir,” Underwood said.
