his eyes with his handkerchief. ‘I am not as young as I was and to see a young person in Miss Pitt-Messanger’s state makes one feel even older. Mr Montillo has been telling me about his sanatorium in the South of France. He has suggested that Miss Pitt-Messanger might benefit from sunshine and sea bathing. I am inclined to agree with him.’
As Dr Morris was being shown out, Inspector Jebb arrived. The two men knew each other well and Morris gave him a brief account of Maud’s suicide attempt before getting into his ancient Austin and driving off. It was after one in the morning and, in the end, there was nothing for Jebb to do but examine the glass case from which the dagger had been stolen and take brief statements from Sir Simon Castlewood and his guests. He agreed that questioning the servants was something better done the next day.
‘You are absolutely sure it has not merely been lost or mislaid, Sir Simon?’ he asked.
‘We will search the house from top to bottom tomorrow but I really don’t think it could have been.’
‘Have you a photograph of the dagger which we can circulate to dealers in this sort of antiquity?’
‘Yes, certainly. All the important finds from any archaeological dig are photographed and catalogued.’
‘So you can let me have a detailed description of the dagger? Presumably it was very valuable?’
‘Very valuable, Inspector. It was unique and therefore, I hope, unsaleable.’ Sir Simon was rapidly recovering from the double shock of the theft and Maud’s attempted suicide and his tone was almost patronizing. He was, after all, a Justice of the Peace.
4
Despite the glories of her bedroom and Psyche keeping guard over her as she slept, Verity had a restless night. As dawn dispatched the shadows, she lay staring up at the ceiling trying to make sense of what had happened the previous evening. Maud, unable to get over her father’s death, had tried to kill herself. It was natural that she should be grieving – her grief exacerbated by the circumstances in which he died – but Verity was sure there was more to it than that. Perhaps there was guilt given that, at least according to Virginia, she hated him for depriving her of life as she wanted to lead it.
On an impulse, she got out of bed and went to the window and looked out over the garden. In the cold light of early morning, the lawn running down to a belt of trees looked silver – cool and calming. She washed her face under Psyche’s amused, rather quizzical gaze, then slipped on a shirt, slacks and a jersey. She tiptoed downstairs and made her way to the front door. It was locked and there was no key in the door. Frustrated, she went into the drawing-room. She seemed to remember that the windows had not been secured and she was right. She opened one, sticking out her tongue as she did so at the plaster panel by Gilbert Ledward of a naked man standing on a column looking up at a squadron of aeroplanes. Sir Simon had told her it represented the modern world’s debt to classical civilization but it looked to her like a phallic symbol – a typical male fantasy of aggression. It reminded her, uncomfortably, of the horror of modern warfare. She jumped down three or four feet on to the wet grass and her canvas shoes were immediately soaked. For no very good reason, except sheer delight at being free of the house, she started to run. By the time she reached the trees she was sweating, though her feet were cold. She stopped, turned round and looked back at the house. It had a strange beauty despite its aggressive modernity and the great hall lay alongside it like an ocean liner.
A hand came over her mouth to stifle a scream and another pulled her back into the shadow of the trees. She shook herself and dug her heel into her assailant’s unseen ankle.
‘Little vixen!’ a voice said as she was released. She turned to see that her attacker was Graham Harvey. He was stroking his leg and smiling wryly. Verity was furiously
As Dr Morris was being shown out, Inspector Jebb arrived. The two men knew each other well and Morris gave him a brief account of Maud’s suicide attempt before getting into his ancient Austin and driving off. It was after one in the morning and, in the end, there was nothing for Jebb to do but examine the glass case from which the dagger had been stolen and take brief statements from Sir Simon Castlewood and his guests. He agreed that questioning the servants was something better done the next day.
‘You are absolutely sure it has not merely been lost or mislaid, Sir Simon?’ he asked.
‘We will search the house from top to bottom tomorrow but I really don’t think it could have been.’
‘Have you a photograph of the dagger which we can circulate to dealers in this sort of antiquity?’
‘Yes, certainly. All the important finds from any archaeological dig are photographed and catalogued.’
‘So you can let me have a detailed description of the dagger? Presumably it was very valuable?’
‘Very valuable, Inspector. It was unique and therefore, I hope, unsaleable.’ Sir Simon was rapidly recovering from the double shock of the theft and Maud’s attempted suicide and his tone was almost patronizing. He was, after all, a Justice of the Peace.
4
Despite the glories of her bedroom and Psyche keeping guard over her as she slept, Verity had a restless night. As dawn dispatched the shadows, she lay staring up at the ceiling trying to make sense of what had happened the previous evening. Maud, unable to get over her father’s death, had tried to kill herself. It was natural that she should be grieving – her grief exacerbated by the circumstances in which he died – but Verity was sure there was more to it than that. Perhaps there was guilt given that, at least according to Virginia, she hated him for depriving her of life as she wanted to lead it.
On an impulse, she got out of bed and went to the window and looked out over the garden. In the cold light of early morning, the lawn running down to a belt of trees looked silver – cool and calming. She washed her face under Psyche’s amused, rather quizzical gaze, then slipped on a shirt, slacks and a jersey. She tiptoed downstairs and made her way to the front door. It was locked and there was no key in the door. Frustrated, she went into the drawing-room. She seemed to remember that the windows had not been secured and she was right. She opened one, sticking out her tongue as she did so at the plaster panel by Gilbert Ledward of a naked man standing on a column looking up at a squadron of aeroplanes. Sir Simon had told her it represented the modern world’s debt to classical civilization but it looked to her like a phallic symbol – a typical male fantasy of aggression. It reminded her, uncomfortably, of the horror of modern warfare. She jumped down three or four feet on to the wet grass and her canvas shoes were immediately soaked. For no very good reason, except sheer delight at being free of the house, she started to run. By the time she reached the trees she was sweating, though her feet were cold. She stopped, turned round and looked back at the house. It had a strange beauty despite its aggressive modernity and the great hall lay alongside it like an ocean liner.
A hand came over her mouth to stifle a scream and another pulled her back into the shadow of the trees. She shook herself and dug her heel into her assailant’s unseen ankle.
‘Little vixen!’ a voice said as she was released. She turned to see that her attacker was Graham Harvey. He was stroking his leg and smiling wryly. Verity was furiously
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