Agnes Cannon spoke suddenly.
"You have no need to feel sorry for him, my dear," said Miss Cannon, in her soft and cultured voice. "I have told you before he was better dead."
"Agnes, you mustn't say that!"
"Dick Renshaw was a bounder and a waster," declared Miss Cannon, though a thin film of tears appeared behind the pince-nez. "He pursued women and he lived above his income." Unexpectedly she added: "He was a spiv and a drone and an eel and a butterfly!"
Dr. Fell blinked at her. "I—harrumph—beg your pardon?"
Patrick Butler was instantly on his feet.
"The term she mentions. Doctor," he said richly, "were framed by our Labour Government to describe any man who works with his brain rather than his hands."
The star of the fanatic sprang into Miss Cannon's eyes; as, on the other side of the fence, it was also in Butler's.
"The Government, young man," Miss Cannon said pityingly, "do not exactly work with their hands."
"No, madam. Or with their brains. I should respect them more if they did either."
"You ought to be jailed for speaking against the Government!" cried Miss Cannon. "We're living in a democracy!"
"Madam," said Butler, closing his eyes, "your remark is such a perfect thing that its beauty must not be spoiled by comment. I accept the definition."
"Stop it!" roared Dr. Fell.
"Speaking for myself," continued Dr. Fell mildly, when silence had been restored, "I share the sentiments of Mr. iButler. If necessary, I could express them with a fluency guaranteed to blast the walls. But that is why we must not discuss them now. We feel too strongly to talk sense on either side. And now perhaps (confound it!) may I ask Mrs. Renshaw a relevant question about her husband's death?"
Lucia nodded expectantly, her dark-red mouth vivid against heightened colour, her body bent forward in the chair.
"You told this girl—harrumph—Kitty," said Dr. Fell, "to change the beds. Did you also tell her to sweep and dust?"
"To sweep and . . . why on earth do you want to know that?"
"Indulge me!" begged Dr. Fell. "Did you?"
"I'm not sure whether I told her. But I remember her running the carpet-sweeper back and forth, with the handle of my knitting-bag over her arm in case she forgot it. Yes; and I think she dusted."
"Alas and alack!" Miss Cannon said indulgently, with a bright friendly look to show no offence over political matters. "With all my efforts, I've never been able to make Lucia a good housekeeper. I attend to such things here."
"Ah!" muttered Dr. Fell.
"Kitty did dust, after a fashion," said Miss Cannon, with brisk competence. "But it's a pity I wasn't there longer. Dear Lucia almost drove me out of the room."
"Agnes, that was only because I was afraid Dick would be there any minute!"
"Well, Kitty made a bad job of it. There was a great deal of dust today, when I cleaned out the bedroom and the bathroom." Miss Cannon shuddered. "After the police had gone. One could even see marks in the dust."
Dr. Fell sat up suddenly, amid a creaking and cracking of woodwork which endangered the whole sofa.
"What marks?" he demanded.
"Really, sir, I . . . well!" Miss Cannon retreated a little. "I hardly remember."
"Are the marks there now?"
"Not after I cleaned, I assure you."
"Then for the love of Heaven try to describe them!"
Every person in that room sat or stood as still as death. Patrick Butler, by the writing-desk, found himself gripping a well-polished and flattish sea-stone used as a paperweight. As a boy in Ireland, the memory flashed through his head, he could throw a heavy stone hard and with uncanny accuracy; he had the knack yet. He would like to throw this one, as a relief for his feelings, at the blackening centre of a mystery.
"I think," Miss Cannon's pale brown eyes narrowed behind the pince-nez, "it was as though someone had scratched in the dust of the window sill. There were two or three marks."
"Shaped like what?"
"Something like the letter T' reversed. And perhaps with a little tail to it. I
"You have no need to feel sorry for him, my dear," said Miss Cannon, in her soft and cultured voice. "I have told you before he was better dead."
"Agnes, you mustn't say that!"
"Dick Renshaw was a bounder and a waster," declared Miss Cannon, though a thin film of tears appeared behind the pince-nez. "He pursued women and he lived above his income." Unexpectedly she added: "He was a spiv and a drone and an eel and a butterfly!"
Dr. Fell blinked at her. "I—harrumph—beg your pardon?"
Patrick Butler was instantly on his feet.
"The term she mentions. Doctor," he said richly, "were framed by our Labour Government to describe any man who works with his brain rather than his hands."
The star of the fanatic sprang into Miss Cannon's eyes; as, on the other side of the fence, it was also in Butler's.
"The Government, young man," Miss Cannon said pityingly, "do not exactly work with their hands."
"No, madam. Or with their brains. I should respect them more if they did either."
"You ought to be jailed for speaking against the Government!" cried Miss Cannon. "We're living in a democracy!"
"Madam," said Butler, closing his eyes, "your remark is such a perfect thing that its beauty must not be spoiled by comment. I accept the definition."
"Stop it!" roared Dr. Fell.
"Speaking for myself," continued Dr. Fell mildly, when silence had been restored, "I share the sentiments of Mr. iButler. If necessary, I could express them with a fluency guaranteed to blast the walls. But that is why we must not discuss them now. We feel too strongly to talk sense on either side. And now perhaps (confound it!) may I ask Mrs. Renshaw a relevant question about her husband's death?"
Lucia nodded expectantly, her dark-red mouth vivid against heightened colour, her body bent forward in the chair.
"You told this girl—harrumph—Kitty," said Dr. Fell, "to change the beds. Did you also tell her to sweep and dust?"
"To sweep and . . . why on earth do you want to know that?"
"Indulge me!" begged Dr. Fell. "Did you?"
"I'm not sure whether I told her. But I remember her running the carpet-sweeper back and forth, with the handle of my knitting-bag over her arm in case she forgot it. Yes; and I think she dusted."
"Alas and alack!" Miss Cannon said indulgently, with a bright friendly look to show no offence over political matters. "With all my efforts, I've never been able to make Lucia a good housekeeper. I attend to such things here."
"Ah!" muttered Dr. Fell.
"Kitty did dust, after a fashion," said Miss Cannon, with brisk competence. "But it's a pity I wasn't there longer. Dear Lucia almost drove me out of the room."
"Agnes, that was only because I was afraid Dick would be there any minute!"
"Well, Kitty made a bad job of it. There was a great deal of dust today, when I cleaned out the bedroom and the bathroom." Miss Cannon shuddered. "After the police had gone. One could even see marks in the dust."
Dr. Fell sat up suddenly, amid a creaking and cracking of woodwork which endangered the whole sofa.
"What marks?" he demanded.
"Really, sir, I . . . well!" Miss Cannon retreated a little. "I hardly remember."
"Are the marks there now?"
"Not after I cleaned, I assure you."
"Then for the love of Heaven try to describe them!"
Every person in that room sat or stood as still as death. Patrick Butler, by the writing-desk, found himself gripping a well-polished and flattish sea-stone used as a paperweight. As a boy in Ireland, the memory flashed through his head, he could throw a heavy stone hard and with uncanny accuracy; he had the knack yet. He would like to throw this one, as a relief for his feelings, at the blackening centre of a mystery.
"I think," Miss Cannon's pale brown eyes narrowed behind the pince-nez, "it was as though someone had scratched in the dust of the window sill. There were two or three marks."
"Shaped like what?"
"Something like the letter T' reversed. And perhaps with a little tail to it. I
Similar Books
