Sleep all who sleep

Wake all who wake

But be as the dead for the dead man’s sake.

“That’s it. Lady Wutherwood determined to make the experiment. As soon as her copy of the Compendium Maleficorum opened itself at that chapter, as soon as I saw her pencilled marks in the margin, I guessed what was up. I ought to have guessed before.”

“I don’t see how you could,” said Roberta.

“Lord, no,” said Henry. “I call it quite remarkable to have got it when you did.”

“Do you?” said Alleyn. “I’m afraid you’re easily impressed. Well, there you are. She waited till the house was still and her night nurse was snoring. By the way, the night nurse’s virtuous denials may have some foundation. I fancy she’d been treated to a morphia tablet in her cocoa. You will have noticed that her pupils were contracted.”

“We didn’t,” said Henry. “But how cunning of Aunt V.”

“Oh, Lady Wutherwood didn’t do that,” said Alleyn, “any more than she murdered Giggle.”

Neither Henry nor Roberta spoke. Alleyn looked from one to the other and then at Nigel, who sat self-effacingly in a corner of the room. “Haven’t you told them?” asked Alleyn. “I—I thought I had,” murmured Nigel.

“What have you told them?”

“I—that—well that Lady Wutherwood—”

“I left you with Fox. If you still held this remarkable theory surely you made certain, before you communicated it, that it was his idea too?”

“No,” stammered Nigel. “No. You said ‘she.’ How the devil—”

“You’ve seen the files. Who hid in the hall cupboard and listened to the quarrel between Lord Charles and his brother? Who lied about it and gave us a string of impossible moves? Who brought the lift back to the top landing after Giggle had done the job downstairs? You’ve seen Giggle’s body. What sort of murderer could inflict that sort of injury from behind the head of a victim lying on his right side in a bed by the left-hand wall of a room?”

“I—well. I—”

“A left-handed murderer to be sure. Tinkerton, you great gump, Tinkerton, Tinkerton, Tinkerton.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Preparation for Poverty

ROBERTA WAS SO deadly tired that she was not able to feel anything but a sort of dull astonishment and a sense of release. This was followed by the ironical reflection that once more the Lampreys, through no effort of their own, had got out of a scrape. They would not even have to face the distasteful ordeal of giving evidence against their uncle’s widow. She looked at Henry and wondered if she only imagined there was an unfamiliar glint of purpose in his eye, or if in sober truth the horrors of the last thirty hours had developed some latent possibilities in his character. He seemed to be listening intently to Alleyn. Roberta forced herself to listen too.