'It sounded like a shot,' said Frankie. 'From the house.' They looked at each other, then raced towards the building.
They went in by the trench window of the drawing-room and passed through into the hall. Sylvia Bassington-ffrench was standing there, her face white as paper.
'Did you hear?' she said. 'It was a shot - from Henry's study.' She swayed and Roger put an arm round her to steady her.
Frankie went to the study door and turned the handle.
'It's locked,' she said.
'The window,' said Roger.
He deposited Sylvia, who was in a half-fainting condition, on a convenient settee and raced out again through the drawingroom, Frankie on his heels. They went round the house till they came to the study window. It was closed, but they put their went into his study, locked the door, wrote a few words on a sheet of paper - and - shot himself. Bobby, it's too ghastly. It's - it's grim.' 'I know,' said Bobby quietly.
They were both silent for a little.
'I shall have to leave today, of course,' said Frankie presently.
'Yes, I suppose you will. How is she - Mrs Bassingtonffrench, I mean?' 'She's collapsed, poor soul. I haven't seen her since we - we found the body. The shock to her must have been awful.' Bobby nodded.
'You'd better bring the car round about eleven,' continued Frankie.
Bobby did not answer. Frankie looked at him impatiently.
'What's the matter with you, Bobby? You look as though you were miles away.' 'Sorry. As a matter of fact ' 'Yes?' 'Well, I was just wondering. I suppose - well, I suppose it's all right?' 'What do you mean - all right?' 'I mean it's quite certain that he did commit suicide?' 'Oh!' said Frankie. 'I see.' She thought a minute. 'Yes,' she said, 'it was suicide all right.' 'You're quite sure? You see, Frankie, we have Moira's word for it that Nicholson wanted two people out of the way. Well, here's one of them gone.' Frankie thought again, but once more she shook her head.
'It must be suicide,' she said. 'I was in the garden with Roger when we heard the shot. We both ran straight in through the drawing-room to the hall. The study door was locked on the inside. We went round to the window. That was fastened also and Roger had to smash it. It wasn't till then that Nicholson appeared upon the scene.' Bobby reflected upon this information.
'It looks all right,' he agreed. 'But Nicholson seems to have appeared on the scene very suddenly.' 'He'd left a stick behind earlier in the afternoon and had come back for it.' Bobby was frowning with the process of thought.
'Listen, Frankie. Suppose that actually Nicholson shot Bassington-ffrench ' 'Having induced him first to write a suicide's letter of farewell?' 'I should think that would be the easiest thing in the world to fake. Any alteration in handwriting would be put down to agitation.' 'Yes, that's true. Go on with your theory.' 'Nicholson shoots Bassington-ffrench, leaves the farewell letter, and nips out locking the door - to appear again a few minutes later as though he had just arrived.' Frankie shook her head regretfully.
'It's a good idea - but it won't work. To begin with, the key was in Henry Bassington-ffrench's pocket ' 'Who found it there?' 'Well, as a matter of fact, Nicholson did.' 'There you are. What's easier for him than to pretend to find it there.' 'I was watching him - remember. I'm sure the key was in the pocket.' 'That's what one says when one watches a conjurer. You see the rabbit being put into the hat! If Nicholson is a high-class criminal, a simple little bit of sleight of hand like that would be child's play to him.' 'Well, you may be right about that, but honestly, Bobby, the whole thing's impossible. Sylvia Bassington-ffrench was actually in the house when the shot was fired. The moment she heard it she ran out into the hall. If Nicholson had fired the shot and come out through the study door she would have been bound to see him. Besides, she told us that he actually came up the drive to the front door. She saw him coming as we ran round the house and went to meet him and brought him round to the study window. No, Bobby, I hate to say it, but the man has an alibi.' 'On principle, I distrust people who have alibis,' said Bobby.
'So do I. But I don't see how you can get round this one.' 'No. Sylvia Bassington-ffrench's word ought to be good enough.' 'Yes, indeed.' 'Well,' said Bobby with a sigh. 'I suppose we'll have to leave it at suicide. Poor devil. What's the next angle of attack, Frankie?' 'The Caymans,' said Frankie. 'I can't think how we've been so remiss as not to have looked them up before. You've kept the address Cayman wrote from, haven't you?' 'Yes. It's the same they gave at the inquest. 17 St Leonard's Gardens, Paddington.' 'Don't you agree that we've rather neglected that channel of inquiry?' 'Absolutely. All the same, you know, Frankie, I've got a very shrewd idea that you'll find the birds flown. I should imagine that the Caymans weren't exactly born yesterday.' 'Even if they have gone off, I may find out something about them.' 'Why - /?' 'Because, once again, I don't think you'd better appear in the matter. It's like coming down here when we thought Roger was the bad man of the show. You are known to them and I am not.' 'And how do your propose to make their acquaintance?' asked Bobby.
'I shall be something political,' said Frankie. 'Canvassing for the Conservative Party. I shall arrive with leaflets.' 'Good enough,' said Bobby. 'But, as I said before, I think you'll find the birds flown. Now there's another thing that requires to be thought of - Moira.' 'Goodness,' said Frankie, 'I'd forgotten all about her.' 'So I noticed,' said Bobby with a trace of coldness in his manner.
'You're right,' said Frankie thoughtfully. 'Something must be done about her.' Bobby nodded. The strange haunting face came up before his eyes. There was something tragic about it. He had always felt that from the first moment when he had taken the photograph from Alan Carstairs' pocket.
'If you'd seen her that night when I first went to the Grange!' he said. 'She was crazy with fear - and I tell you, Frankie, she's right. It's not nerves or imagination, or anything like that. If Nicholson wants to marry Sylvia Bassingtonffrench, two obstacles have got to go. One's gone. I've a feeling that Moira's life is hanging by a hair and that any delay may be fatal.' Frankie was sobered by the eamestness of his words.
'My dear, you're right,' she said. 'We must act quickly.
What shall we do?' 'We must persuade her to leave the Grange - at once.' Frankie nodded.
'I tell you what,' she said. 'She'd better go down to Wales to the Castle. Heaven knows, she ought to be safe enough there.' 'If you can fix that, Frankie, nothing could be better.' 'Well, it's simple enough. Father never notices who goes or comes. He'll like Moira - nearly any man would - she's so feminine. It's extraordinary how men like helpless women.' 'I don't think Moira is particularly helpless,' said Bobby.
'Nonsense. She's like a little bird that sits and waits to be eaten by a snake without doing anything about it.' 'What could she do?' 'Heaps of things,' said Frankie vigorously.
'Well, I don't see it. She's got no money, no friends ' 'My dear, don't drone on as though you were recommending a case to the Girls' Friendly Society.' 'Sorry,' said Bobby.
There was an offended pause.
'Well,' said Frankie, recovering her temper. 'As you were. I think we'd better get on to this business as soon as possible.' 'So do I,' said Bobby. 'Really, Frankie, it's awfully decent of you to -' 'That's all right,' said Frankie interrupting him. 'I don't mind befriending the girl so long as you don't drivel on about her as though she had no hands or feet or tongue or brains.' 'I simply don't know what you mean,' said Bobby.
'Well, we needn't talk about it,' said Frankie. 'Now, my idea is that whatever we're going to do we'd better do it quickly. Is that a quotation?' 'It's a paraphrase of one. Go on. Lady Macbeth.' 'You know, I've always thought,' said Frankie, suddenly digressing wildly from the matter in hand, 'that Lady Macbeth incited Macbeth to do all those murders simply and solely because she was so frightfully bored with life - and incidentally with Macbeth. I'm sure he was one of those meek, inoffensive men who drive their wives distracted with boredom. But, having once committed a murder for the first time in his life, he felt the hell of a fine fellow and began to develop ego mania as a compensation for his former inferiority complex.' 'You ought to write a book on the subject, Frankie.' 'I can't spell. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, rescue of Moira. You'd better bring the car round at half-past ten. I'll drive over to the Grange, ask for Moira and, if Nicholson's there when I see her, I'll remind her of her promise to come and stay with me and carry her off then and there.' 'Excellent, Frankie. I'm glad we're not going to waste any time. I've a horror of another accident happening.' 'Half-past ten, then,' said Frankie.
By the time she got back to Merroway Court, it was half-past nine. Breakfast had just been brought in and Roger was pouring himself out some coffee. He looked ill and worn.
'Good morning,' said Frankie. 'I slept awfully badly. In the end I got up about seven and went for a walk.' 'I'm frightfully sorry you should have been let in for all this worry,' said Roger.
'How's Sylvia?' 'They gave her an opiate last night. She's still asleep, I believe. Poor girl, I'm most terribly sorry for her. She was simply devoted to Henry.' 'I know.' Frankie paused and then explained her plans for departure.
'I suppose you'll have to go,' said Roger resentfully. 'The inquest's on Friday. I'll let you know if you're wanted for it. It all depends on the coroner.' He swallowed a cup of coffee and a piece of toast and then went off to attend to the many things requiring his attention.
Frankie felt very sorry for him. The amount of gossip and curiosity created by a suicide in a family she could imagine only too well. Tommy appeared and she devoted herself to amusing the child.
Bobby brought the car round at half-past ten, Frankie's luggage was brought down. She said goodbye to Tommy and left a note for Sylvia. The Bentley drove away.
They covered the distance to the Grange in a very short time. Frankie had never been there before and the big iron gates and the overgrown shrubbery depressed her spirits.
'It's a creepy place,' she observed. 'I don't wonder Moira gets the horrors here.' They drove up to the front door and Bobby got down and rang the bell. It was not answered for some minutes. Finally a woman in nurse's kit opened it.
'Mrs Nicholson?' said Bobby.
The woman hesitated, then withdrew into the hall and opened the door wider. Frankie jumped out of the car and passed into the house. The door closed behind her. It had a nasty echoing clang as it shut. Frankie noticed that it had heavy bolts and bars across it. Quite irrationally she felt afraid - as though she was here, in this sinister house, a prisoner.
'Nonsense,' she told herself. 'Bobby's outside in the car. I've come here openly. Nothing can happen to me.' And, shaking off the ridiculous feeling, she followed the nurse upstairs and along a passage. The nurse threw open a door and Frankie passed into a small sitting-room daintily furnished with cheerful chintzes and flowers in the vases. Her spirits rose.
Murmuring something, the nurse withdrew.
About five minutes passed and the door opened and Dr Nicholson came in.
Frankie was quite unable to control a slight nervous start, but she masked it by a welcoming smile and shook hands.
'Good morning,' she said.
'Good morning. Lady Frances. You have not come to bring me bad news of Mrs Bassington-ffrench, I hope?' 'She was still asleep when I left,' said Frankie.
'Poor lady. Her own doctor is, of course, looking after her.' 'Oh! yes.' She paused, then said: 'I'm sure you're busy. I mustn't take up your time, Dr Nicholson. I really called to see your wife.' 'To see Moira? That was very kind of you.' Was it only fancy, or did the pale-blue eyes behind the strong glasses harden ever so slightly.
'Yes,' he repeated. 'That was very kind.' 'If she isn't up yet,' said Frankie, smiling pleasantly, 'I'll sit down and wait.' 'Oh! she's up,' said Dr Nicholson.
'Good,' said Frankie. 'I want to persuade her to come to me for a visit. She's practically promised to.' She smiled again.
'Why, now, that's really very kind of you. Lady Frances very kind, indeed. I'm sure Moira would have enjoyed that very much.' 'Would have?' asked Frankie sharply.
Dr Nicholson smiled, showing his fine set of even white teeth.
