Body in the Library - Agatha Christie [20]
George Bartlett gaped at him.
“Let’s see now—what did I do?”
“We’re waiting for you to tell us.”
“Yes, yes—of course. Jolly difficult, remembering things, what? Let me see. Shouldn’t be surprised if I went into the bar and had a drink.”
“Did you go into the bar and have a drink?”
“That’s just it. I did have a drink. Don’t think it was just then. Have an idea I wandered out, don’t you know? Bit of air. Rather stuffy for September. Very nice outside. Yes, that’s it. I strolled around a bit, then I came in and had a drink and then I strolled back to the ballroom. Wasn’t much doing. Noticed what’s-her-name—Josie—was dancing again. With the tennis fellow. She’d been on the sick list—twisted ankle or something.”
“That fixes the time of your return at midnight. Do you intend us to understand that you spent over an hour walking about outside?”
“Well, I had a drink, you know. I was—well, I was thinking of things.”
This statement received more credulity than any other.
Colonel Melchett said sharply:
“What were you thinking about?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Things,” said Mr. Bartlett vaguely.
“You have a car, Mr. Bartlett?”
“Oh, yes, I’ve got a car.”
“Where was it, in the hotel garage?”
“No, it was in the courtyard, as a matter of fact. Thought I might go for a spin, you see.”
“Perhaps you did go for a spin?”
“No—no, I didn’t. Swear I didn’t.”
“You didn’t, for instance, take Miss Keene for a spin?”
“Oh, I say. Look here, what are you getting at? I didn’t—I swear I didn’t. Really, now.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bartlett, I don’t think there is anything more at present. At present,” repeated Colonel Melchett with a good deal of emphasis on the words.
They left Mr. Bartlett looking after them with a ludicrous expression of alarm on his unintellectual face.
“Brainless young ass,” said Colonel Melchett. “Or isn’t he?”
Superintendent Harper shook his head.
“We’ve got a long way to go,” he said.
Six
I
Neither the night porter nor the barman proved helpful. The night porter remembered ringing up to Miss Keene’s room just after midnight and getting no reply. He had not noticed Mr. Bartlett leaving or entering the hotel. A lot of gentlemen and ladies were strolling in and out, the night being fine. And there were side doors off the corridor as well as the one in the main hall. He was fairly certain Miss Keene had not gone out by the main door, but if she had come down from her room, which was on the first floor, there was a staircase next to it and a door out at the end of the corridor, leading on to the side terrace. She could have gone out of that unseen easily enough. It was not locked until the dancing was over at two o’clock.
The barman remembered Mr. Bartlett being in the bar the preceding evening but could not say when. Somewhere about the middle of the evening, he thought. Mr. Bartlett had sat against the wall and was looking rather melancholy. He did not know how long he was there. There were a lot of outside guests coming and going in the bar. He had noticed Mr. Bartlett but he couldn’t fix the time in any way.
II
As they left the bar, they were accosted by a small boy of about nine years old. He burst immediately into excited speech.
“I say, are you the detectives? I’m Peter Carmody. It was my grandfather, Mr. Jefferson, who rang up the police about Ruby. Are you from Scotland Yard? You don’t mind my speaking to you, do you?”
Colonel Melchett looked as though he were about to return a short answer, but Superintendent Harper intervened. He spoke benignly and heartily.
“That’s all right, my son. Naturally interests you, I expect?”
“You bet it does. Do you like detective stories? I do. I read them all, and I’ve got autographs from Dorothy Sayers and Agatha Christie and Dickson Carr and H. C. Bailey. Will the murder be in the papers?”
“It’ll be in the papers all right,” said Superintendent Harper grimly.
“You see, I’m going back to school next week and I shall tell them all that I knew her—really knew her well.”
“What did you think of her, eh?”
Peter considered.
“Well, I didn