lantern. It was a temporary affair, the lantern being supported by a hook screwed into a beam and lit by means of a flex run from the socket of a permanent fixture at a little distance.
“Now, you two,” said Wimsey, when the two guests arrived, “I want to make a little experiment. Will you sit down on this settee, Playfair, as you did last night. And you, Miss Carstairs—I picked you out to help because you’re wearing a white dress. Will you go up the stairs at the end of the corridor as Miss Grayle did last night. I want to know whether it looks the same to Playfair as it did then—bar all the other people, of course.”
He watched them as they carried out this manœuvre. Jim Playfair looked puzzled.
“It doesn’t seem quite the same, somehow. I don’t know what the difference is, but there is a difference.”
Joan, returning, agreed with him.
“I was sitting on that other settee part of the time,” she said, “and it looks different to me. I think it’s darker.”
“Lighter,” said Jim.
“Good!” said Wimsey. “That’s what I wanted you to say. Now, Bunter, swing that lantern through a quarter-turn to the left.”
The moment this was done, Joan gave a little cry.
“That’s it! That’s it! The blue light! I remember thinking how frosty-faced those poor waits looked as they came in.”
“And you, Playfair?”
“That’s right,” said Jim, satisfied. “The light was red last night. I remember thinking how warm and cosy it looked.”
Wimsey laughed.
“We’re on to it, Bunter. What’s the chessboard rule? The Queen stands on a square of her own colour. Find the maid who looked after the dressing-room, and ask her whether Mrs. Bellingham was there last night between the fox-trot and Sir Roger.”
In five minutes Bunter was back with his report.
“The maid says, my lord, that Mrs. Bellingham did not come into the dressing-room at that time. But she saw her come out of the picture-gallery and run downstairs towards the tapestry room just as the band struck up Sir Roger.”
“And that,” said Wimsey, “was at 1:29.”
“Mrs. Bellingham?” said Jim. “But you said you saw her yourself in the ballroom before 1:30. She couldn’t have had time to commit the murder.”
“No, she couldn’t,” said Wimsey. “But Charmian Grayle was dead long before that. It was the Red Queen, not the White, you saw upon the staircase. Find out why Mrs. Bellingham lied about her movements, and then we shall know the truth.”
“A very sad affair, my lord,” said Superintendent Johnson, some hours later. “Mr. Bellingham came across with it like a gentleman as soon as we told him we had evidence against his wife. It appears that Miss Grayle knew certain facts about him which would have been very damaging to his political career. She’d been getting money out of him for years. Earlier in the evening she surprised him by making fresh demands. During the last waltz they had together, they went into the tapestry room and a quarrel took place. He lost his temper and laid hands on her. He says he never meant to hurt her seriously, but she started to scream and he took hold of her throat to silence her and—sort of accidentally—throttled her. When he found what he’d done, he left her there and came away, feeling, as he says, all of a daze. He had the next dance with his wife. He told her what had happened, and then discovered that he’d left the little sceptre affair he was carrying in the room with the body. Mrs. Bellingham—she’s a brave woman—undertook to fetch it back. She slipped through the dark passage under the musicians’ gallery—which was empty—and up the stair to the picture-gallery. She did not hear Mr. Playfair speak to her. She ran through the gallery and down the other stair, secured the sceptre and hid it under her own dress. Later, she heard from Mr. Playfair about what he saw, and realised that in the red light he had mistaken her for the White Queen. In the early
“Now, you two,” said Wimsey, when the two guests arrived, “I want to make a little experiment. Will you sit down on this settee, Playfair, as you did last night. And you, Miss Carstairs—I picked you out to help because you’re wearing a white dress. Will you go up the stairs at the end of the corridor as Miss Grayle did last night. I want to know whether it looks the same to Playfair as it did then—bar all the other people, of course.”
He watched them as they carried out this manœuvre. Jim Playfair looked puzzled.
“It doesn’t seem quite the same, somehow. I don’t know what the difference is, but there is a difference.”
Joan, returning, agreed with him.
“I was sitting on that other settee part of the time,” she said, “and it looks different to me. I think it’s darker.”
“Lighter,” said Jim.
“Good!” said Wimsey. “That’s what I wanted you to say. Now, Bunter, swing that lantern through a quarter-turn to the left.”
The moment this was done, Joan gave a little cry.
“That’s it! That’s it! The blue light! I remember thinking how frosty-faced those poor waits looked as they came in.”
“And you, Playfair?”
“That’s right,” said Jim, satisfied. “The light was red last night. I remember thinking how warm and cosy it looked.”
Wimsey laughed.
“We’re on to it, Bunter. What’s the chessboard rule? The Queen stands on a square of her own colour. Find the maid who looked after the dressing-room, and ask her whether Mrs. Bellingham was there last night between the fox-trot and Sir Roger.”
In five minutes Bunter was back with his report.
“The maid says, my lord, that Mrs. Bellingham did not come into the dressing-room at that time. But she saw her come out of the picture-gallery and run downstairs towards the tapestry room just as the band struck up Sir Roger.”
“And that,” said Wimsey, “was at 1:29.”
“Mrs. Bellingham?” said Jim. “But you said you saw her yourself in the ballroom before 1:30. She couldn’t have had time to commit the murder.”
“No, she couldn’t,” said Wimsey. “But Charmian Grayle was dead long before that. It was the Red Queen, not the White, you saw upon the staircase. Find out why Mrs. Bellingham lied about her movements, and then we shall know the truth.”
“A very sad affair, my lord,” said Superintendent Johnson, some hours later. “Mr. Bellingham came across with it like a gentleman as soon as we told him we had evidence against his wife. It appears that Miss Grayle knew certain facts about him which would have been very damaging to his political career. She’d been getting money out of him for years. Earlier in the evening she surprised him by making fresh demands. During the last waltz they had together, they went into the tapestry room and a quarrel took place. He lost his temper and laid hands on her. He says he never meant to hurt her seriously, but she started to scream and he took hold of her throat to silence her and—sort of accidentally—throttled her. When he found what he’d done, he left her there and came away, feeling, as he says, all of a daze. He had the next dance with his wife. He told her what had happened, and then discovered that he’d left the little sceptre affair he was carrying in the room with the body. Mrs. Bellingham—she’s a brave woman—undertook to fetch it back. She slipped through the dark passage under the musicians’ gallery—which was empty—and up the stair to the picture-gallery. She did not hear Mr. Playfair speak to her. She ran through the gallery and down the other stair, secured the sceptre and hid it under her own dress. Later, she heard from Mr. Playfair about what he saw, and realised that in the red light he had mistaken her for the White Queen. In the early
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