The Murder at Sissingham Hall by Clara Benson Page B

look ashamed.
    There was a pause.
    ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Since no-one seems to want to say the word, I shall. What we are really saying is that this was not an accident at all but murder.’

NINE
     
    I am not quite sure what reaction I expected when I said it but I was slightly disconcerted when everyone, including Sylvia, merely nodded sagely.
    ‘A murder that has been hurriedly and clumsily disguised to look like an accident,’ I continued.
    ‘It certainly looks as though that might be a possibility,’ said Dr. Carter. ‘Although of course there is no proof—just a few pieces of circumstantial evidence.’ He counted off on his fingers: ‘One, the position of the body. Two, the whisky decanter. Three, the French windows. Is there anything else?’
    Angela explained about the vase on the mantelpiece.
    ‘Hm, that is something else to consider, certainly,’ said the doctor.
    ‘Then how did he die, if not by hitting his head?’ I asked.
    ‘Oh, he certainly received an injury to the back of the head that killed him instantaneously,’ the doctor assured us. ‘But that could equally have been the result of a deliberate blow.’
    Mr. Pomfrey coughed.
    ‘Let us return to the French windows,’ he said. ‘Mrs. Marchmont, I believe you said they were rather stiff when you opened them.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Angela, ‘but not very difficult to open, so I’m not sure we can deduce anything from that. There were some specks of loose paint on the ground outside but I may have done that myself when I opened the doors. I am afraid I have ruined any evidence that might have been got that way.’
    ‘If the doors were open then anyone could have got in from outside,’ said Sylvia.
    ‘It seems so,’ replied Mr. Pomfrey.
    ‘But who unlocked them from the inside?’ I said. ‘Surely the most obvious person is Sir Neville himself. He must have been expecting someone.’
    ‘Not necessarily,’ said Angela. ‘Anybody could have come in during the day yesterday and opened them. It’s unlikely that it would have been noticed until Rogers did his rounds.’
    ‘Just a moment,’ said Dr. Carter. ‘We are running ahead of ourselves. The fact that the French windows were unlocked is unimportant unless there is clear evidence that Sir Neville was killed deliberately. They are not, in themselves, evidence of foul play. If it was an accident, then we must accept that there is a perfectly innocent explanation for it. At present, therefore, the French windows are merely a distraction.’
    ‘That is very true,’ said Mr. Pomfrey. ‘The question is, do we have enough evidence to indicate that foul play has occurred?’
    ‘No,’ admitted the doctor, ‘but the evidence we have found is very suggestive. There is one thing I should like to clear up before we proceed further, however. The butler states that the body was not moved but we have not yet spoken to the housemaid. I should like to be certain that their accounts agree. The butler is an old fellow and perhaps he moved Sir Neville and merely forgot about it, or didn’t wish to get into trouble over it.’
    This seemed reasonable.
    ‘Perhaps I should speak to her alone?’ suggested Dr. Carter. ‘Since it seems she was very upset this morning, if she is questioned by five people at once it may prove too much for her.’
    This was agreed to and the doctor went off, leaving the four of us to gaze round the room and at one another. I stared at one of the African artefacts that Sir Neville had proudly shown me only two days ago, a statue of an elongated kneeling woman, and remembered our mysterious conversation. Sylvia was the first to speak, voicing my own unspoken question.
    ‘What if the housemaid confirms Rogers’s story? What then?’
    Mr. Pomfrey coughed.
    ‘Er—I must confess that I am not entirely sure. I expect her to support the butler’s story, of course. Indeed, I should be astonished if she does not, given Rogers’s position of authority among the