Who Pays the Piper? by Patricia Wentworth

man you would never think was a policeman had got a pencil in his hand and a notebook ready, and the way things were shaping he’d have to stand up in court and swear he had listened at the door. Murder didn’t just kill one person, it could kill a man’s character too, and where was he going to get another job after being mixed up in a murder case? He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
    â€œThe first thing I heard was Mr. Dale using language.”
    â€œWhat sort of language?”
    Raby told him.
    â€œAnd then I heard the American gentleman say——”
    Inspector Lamb took a look at his list.
    â€œMr. Vincent C. Bell—been stopping here since Thursday. Ever stopped here before?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œEver seen him before?”
    â€œNot before Thursday.”
    â€œAll right, go on with what you heard him say.”
    Raby looked apologetic.
    â€œI wouldn’t listen in an ordinary way, sir, but the fact is I didn’t know whether to go in or not. What with Mr. Dale using language like that, and the American gentleman——”
    â€œDid he use language too?”
    â€œNot exactly. He called Mr. Dale a double-crossing, two-timing skunk.”
    Abbott’s hand came up across his mouth.
    â€œA nice distinction between language and epithet,” he murmured.
    Inspector Lamb settled himself in his chair.
    â€œAnd what did Mr. Dale say to that?”
    â€œHe swore, sir. And then I thought I’d better not stay, so I came away.”
    â€œNow look here, Raby—you say they were swearing and flinging names. We all know there are ways and ways of doing such things. It’s not the words that count so much, it’s the way a man says them. All this that you say you heard, well, it might have been said chaffing, as you might say, or it might have been said in the way of two people having a difference of opinion and not much in it—if a man’s got a habit of using language, it mayn’t amount to much—or it might have been said in real deadly earnest, and I want you to tell me which of these three describes what you heard between Mr. Dale and Mr. Bell.”
    Raby wiped his forehead.
    â€œIt was deadly earnest and not a doubt about it.”
    â€œYou’re sure of that?”
    â€œOh, yes, sir. Both gentlemen were very angry indeed—not a doubt about it.”
    â€œWell, go on. What did you do after you left the study door?”
    â€œI went away, but I didn’t go farther than the other side of the hall, because I didn’t like what I’d heard.”
    â€œHow long were you on the other side of the hall?”
    â€œA minute or two. And then the study door opened and Mr. Bell came out quick and slammed it behind him, and on through the hall and up the stairs. I don’t think he saw me, sir.”
    â€œDid you go in and attend to the fire?”
    â€œYes, sir. Mr. Dale was standing over by the glass door with his back to me. He’d got the door a little bit open. He didn’t move or look round. I made up the fire and came out.”
    â€œIf you came in by this door behind me here, you’d pass the writing-table on your way to the fire. Did you see Mr. Dale’s revolver?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œYou knew he had a revolver, and where he kept it?”
    The sweat came out on Raby’s forehead. He turned his handkerchief between clammy hands.
    â€œThere wasn’t any secret about where he kept it. Everyone knew, sir. It was in that drawer on your right—the second drawer.”
    â€œDid he keep the drawer locked?”
    Raby hesitated, and said,
    â€œSometimes.”
    â€œYou’ve seen it open?”
    â€œOh, yes, sir.”
    â€œWas it open last night?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œYou mean the drawer was open?”
    â€œYes, sir—it was pulled out.”
    â€œDid you see the revolver?”
    â€œNo, sir—I wasn’t