From the Major’s expression it could easily be deduced that he disapproved profoundly of Mr Roydon. The reason was at once made apparent. ‘He calls himself a playwright, or some such nonsense,’ said the Major.

‘He does, does he?’ said Hemingway. ‘Well, that’s very interesting, sir. What did you say his name was?’

‘Willoughby Roydon. Don’t suppose you’ve heard of him; I know I hadn’t. As far as I can make out, he hasn’t had anything put on – really put on, I mean.’

The Inspector appeared to appreciate the distinction, nodding, and saying sapiently: ‘Sunday evenings, eh? Uplift and Modernism. I know. What’s he doing in the case, sir?’

‘Friend of Paula Herriard. He’s written a play which she wanted her uncle to back. Don’t know what it was about. Daresay it would be all the same to me if I did. I don’t go in for that kind of thing. Can’t stand highbrows at any price. Point is, Nat didn’t like it. This Roydon-fellow seems to have read the thing aloud to him yesterday afternoon, and Nat lost his temper over it, and there was a general sort of a row. Well, I’m a fair-minded man, and, after all, you can’t be surprised, can you? I mean, coming down to stay with a man, and then reading stuff aloud to him! Never heard of such a thing!’

‘Did Mr Herriard quarrel with Mr Roydon, then?’ asked Hemingway.

‘That we can’t make out, can we, Colwall? Roydon says he didn’t.’

‘Well, sir, it’s a bit more than that,’ said Colwall. ‘They didn’t any of them say as Mr Herriard had actually had words with Mr Roydon. It was Miss Herriard he quarrelled with. According to what the butler told me, Mr Herriard threatened to cut her out of his will, and said he wouldn’t have her, nor Mr Stephen either, to stay again. Of course, there’s no denying he was a violent-tempered kind of man. No saying whether he meant it or not. If he did, and Mr Stephen knew that he did, it puts an ugly complexion on the matter, that’s what I say.’

‘Yes, yes!’ said the Major, elbowing him out of the discussion. ‘All very well, but we mustn’t exclude the other possibilities. There’s Mottisfont, for instance. I consider he will bear looking into. He’s been Nat’s partner for a great many years, Inspector, and there’s plenty of evidence to show that he’s been up to something Nat didn’t like. The servants say that he was shut up with Nat yesterday, and that there was a quarrel between them. You didn’t feel satisfied about him, did you, Colwall?’

‘Not altogether, I didn’t, sir. Very nervous gentleman, for a man of his years. He didn’t speak the truth to me, or at least not all of it, that I am sure of.’

‘They never do,’ said Hemingway. ‘Are there any more suspects?’

‘Properly speaking, there aren’t,’ said Colwall. ‘There’s Miss Clare, but she’s got an alibi. Besides, there doesn’t seem to be any motive. Kind of cousin, she is. Otherwise, there’s only the servants. Most of them couldn’t have had any reason to murder their master. I don’t know that any of them had, except that Mr Herriard was very rough with his valet, by what the butler told me. Threw things at him when he was out of temper. Quite one of the Old School, as you might say.’