There Came Both Mist and Snow by Michael Innes

self-controlled community. It had become the business of the police to investigate our affairs. And they had their own way of setting about it.
    ‘I suppose I had better go,’ I said. The remark sounded rather fatuous; I might have been a small boy putting a jaunty face upon a summons before authority.
    ‘Leader must plainly see everyone, and arrange the interviews as he wishes,’ said Basil. ‘The rest of us had better go into the library.’
    ‘When it is Cecil’s turn,’ asked Geoffrey, ‘will he give them a little talk on what he calls Control?’
    On this I left the dining-room, and I confess I felt some need of control myself. I do not approve of the police. This may seem a foolish statement – and indeed I don’t doubt that if I were being robbed I should call out for the nearest constable lustily enough. I suppose I mean that I have no great fancy for the working out of human law. Nemesis is more expressive. At least I have an invincible repugnance towards that sort of ferreting which Geoffrey and Anne had been suggesting when the telephone rang. Walking to the study I felt that I must be on my guard against presenting an appearance of irrational hostility.
    Leader and Appleby were both standing when I entered: Leader studying something on Basil’s desk; Appleby staring at the floor with a frown which I hoped reflected a continued sense of the delicacy of his position.
    ‘The doctors think that Mr Foxcroft may live,’ I said.
    Leader grabbed a notebook – very much as if this were something which it would be helpful to commit to paper. Appleby, I thought, looked if anything a shade disappointed; it might be suspected that he regarded Wilfred’s possible recovery, attended as it would probably be by a simple denunciation of the criminal, as likely to dissipate a very pretty problem. Here was another strictly professional angle.
    ‘Mr Ferryman?’ said Leader.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Mr Ferryman, Mr Foxcroft is a stockbroker?’
    ‘A banker.’
    Leader peered at the desk before him. ‘Margins,’ he said; ‘he was writing a letter about margins. I thought it sounded financial. But what exactly would they be?’
    I shook my head, feeling that this was distinctly a tangential method of investigation. ‘I have very little idea.’
    ‘One covers them,’ said Appleby helpfully. ‘They are something financial and one covers them. Make a note of that, Leader. And now we might experiment with the lights.’
    Leader scratched his chin. ‘You’re forgetting Mr Ferryman here.’
    ‘Not at all.’ Appleby seemed to be thoroughly in charge. ‘Mr Ferryman will help. Do you mind? Come over here. Don’t step in the blood. Please sit down at the desk.’
    ‘You struck me earlier in the evening,’ I said, ‘as quite a diffident person.’
    Appleby smiled the slightly absent smile with which a dentist receives the repartee of a patient. ‘Facing the window, Mr Ferryman. Yes, that’s just right. Leader, the switches are by the door. Only I don’t at all want to disturb those curtains. So do you mind waiting? I shan’t be a moment.’
    He disappeared. ‘Your colleague,’ I said, ‘has a brisk way with him.’
    In Leader’s eye I thought I detected a sympathetic gleam. He contented himself, however, with a nod; and then fell to his notebook. I had leisure to look about me. The room was large; looking at it with a fresh eye I reflected that it might best be described as a handsome apartment. The most noticeable piece of furniture was the great desk at which I now sat. It faced an embrasure, at present curtained, in which stood as I knew a large French window giving on the terrace: to judge from an icy wind which blew about me this window must be wide open. Behind me and to my left as I sat facing this was a low standard lamp; in the wall on my left was the fireplace with a sofa and chairs; in the opposite wall was the room’s only door. The walls were lined with Basil’s working books; there were a number of