Mysterious Mr. Quin - Agatha Christie [86]
Hanged herself. Impossible. Incomprehensible!
He said a few soothing old-fashioned words to Madge, and hurried downstairs. He found David Keeley looking perplexed and incompetent.
‘I’ve telephoned to the police, Satterthwaite. Apparently that’s got to be done. So the doctor said. He’s just finished examining the–the–good lord, it’s a beastly business. She must have been desperately unhappy–to do it that way–Queer that song last night. Swan song, eh? She looked rather like a swan–a black swan.’
‘Yes.’
‘Swan Song,’ repeated Keeley. ‘Shows it was in her mind, eh?’
‘It would seem so–yes, certainly it would seem so.’
He hesitated, then asked if he might see–if, that is…
His host comprehended the stammering request.
‘If you want to–I’d forgotten you have a penchant for human tragedies.’
He led the way up the broad staircase. Mr Satterthwaite followed him. At the head of the stairs was the room occupied by Roger Graham and opposite it, on the other side of the passage, his mother’s room. The latter door was ajar and a faint wisp of smoke floated through it.
A momentary surprise invaded Mr Satterthwaite’s mind. He had not judged Mrs Graham to be a woman who smoked so early in the day. Indeed, he had had the idea that she did not smoke at all.
They went along the passage to the end door but one. David Keeley entered the room and Mr Satterthwaite followed him.
The room was not a very large one and showed signs of a man’s occupation. A door in the wall led into a second room. A bit of cut rope still dangled from a hook high up on the door. On the bed…
Mr Satterthwaite stood for a minute looking down on the heap of huddled chiffon. He noticed that it was ruched and pleated like the plumage of a bird. At the face, after one glance, he did not look again.
He glanced from the door with its dangling rope to the communicating door through which they had come.
‘Was that open?’
‘Yes. At least the maid says so.’
‘Annesley slept in there? Did he hear anything?’
‘He says–nothing.’
‘Almost incredible,’ murmured Mr Satterthwaite. He looked back at the form on the bed.
‘Where is he?’
‘Annesley? He’s downstairs with the doctor.’
They went downstairs to find an Inspector of police had arrived. Mr Satterthwaite was agreeably surprised to recognize in him an old acquaintance, Inspector Winkfield. The Inspector went upstairs with the doctor, and a few minutes later a request came that all members of the house party should assemble in the drawing-room.
The blinds had been drawn, and the whole room had a funereal aspect. Doris Coles looked frightened and subdued. Every now and then she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Madge was resolute and alert, her feelings fully under control by now. Mrs Graham was composed, as always, her face grave and impassive. The tragedy seemed to have affected her son more keenly than anyone. He looked a positive wreck this morning. David Keeley, as usual, had subsided into the background.
The bereaved husband sat alone, a little apart from the others. There was a queer dazed looked about him, as though he could hardly realize what had taken place.
Mr Satterthwaite, outwardly composed, was inwardly seething with the importance of a duty shortly to be performed.
Inspector Winkfield, followed by Dr Morris, came in and shut the door behind him. He cleared his throat and spoke.
‘This is a very sad occurrence–very sad, I’m sure. It’s necessary, under the circumstances, that I should ask everybody a few questions. You’ll not object, I’m sure. I’ll begin with Mr Annesley. You’ll forgive my asking, sir, but had your good lady ever threatened to take her life?’
Mr Satterthwaite opened his lips impulsively, then closed them again. There was plenty of time. Better not speak too soon.
‘I–no, I don’t think so.’
His voice was so hesitating, so peculiar, that everyone shot a covert glance at him.
‘You’re not sure, sir?’
‘Yes–I’m–quite sure. She didn’t.’
‘Ah! Were you aware that she was unhappy in any way?’
‘No. I–no, I wasn’t.’
‘She said nothing to you. About feeling depressed, for