Mysterious Mr. Quin - Agatha Christie [87]
‘I–no, nothing.’
Whatever the Inspector thought, he said nothing. Instead he proceeded to his next point.
‘Will you describe to me briefly the events of last night?’
‘We–all went up to bed. I fell asleep immediately and heard nothing. The housemaid’s scream aroused me this morning. I rushed into the adjoining room and found my wife–and found her–’
His voice broke. The Inspector nodded.
‘Yes, yes, that’s quite enough. We needn’t go into that. When did you last see your wife the night before?’
‘I–downstairs.’
‘Downstairs?’
‘Yes, we all left the drawing-room together. I went straight up leaving the others talking in the hall.’
‘And you didn’t see your wife again? Didn’t she say goodnight when she came up to bed?’
‘I was asleep when she came up.’
‘But she only followed you a few minutes later. That’s right, isn’t it, sir?’ He looked at David Keeley, who nodded.
‘She hadn’t come up half an hour later.’
Annesley spoke stubbornly. The Inspector’s eyes strayed gently to Mrs Graham.
‘She didn’t stay in your room talking, Madam?’
Did Mr Satterthwaite fancy it, or was there a slight pause before Mrs Graham said with her customary quiet decision of manner:
‘No, I went straight into my room and closed the door. I heard nothing.’
‘And you say, sir’–the Inspector had shifted his attention back to Annesley–‘that you slept and heard nothing. The communicating door was open, was it not?’
‘I–I believe so. But my wife would have entered her room by the other door from the corridor.’
‘Even so, sir, there would have been certain sounds–a choking noise, a drumming of heels on the door–’
‘No.’
It was Mr Satterthwaite who spoke, impetuously, unable to stop himself. Every eye turned towards him in surprise. He himself became nervous, stammered, and turned pink.
‘I–I beg your pardon, Inspector. But I must speak. You are on the wrong track–the wrong track altogether. Mrs Annesley did not kill herself–I am sure of it. She was murdered.’
There was a dead silence, then Inspector Winkfield said quietly:
‘What leads you to say that, sir?’
‘I–it is a feeling. A very strong feeling.’
‘But I think, sir, there must be more than that to it. There must be some particular reason.’
Well, of course there was a particular reason. There was the mysterious message from Mr Quin. But you couldn’t tell a police inspector that. Mr Satterthwaite cast about desperately, and found nothing.
‘Last night–when we were talking together, she said she was very happy. Very happy–just that. That wasn’t like a woman thinking of committing suicide.’
He was triumphant. He added:
‘She went back to the drawing-room to fetch her ukelele, so that she wouldn’t forget it in the morning. That didn’t look like suicide either.’
‘No,’ admitted the Inspector. ‘No, perhaps it didn’t.’ He turned to David Keeley. ‘Did she take the ukelele upstairs with her?’
The mathematician tried to remember.
‘I think–yes, she did. She went upstairs carrying it in her hand. I remember seeing it just as she turned the corner of the staircase before I turned off the light down here.’
‘Oh!’ cried Madge. ‘But it’s here now.’
She pointed dramatically to where the ukelele lay on a table.
‘That’s curious,’ said the Inspector. He stepped swiftly across and rang the bell.
A brief order sent the butler in search of the housemaid whose business it was to do the rooms in the morning. She came, and was quite positive in her answer. The ukelele had been there first thing that morning when she had dusted.
Inspector Winkfield dismissed her and then said curtly:
‘I would like to speak to Mr Satterthwaite in private, please. Everyone may go. But no one is to leave the house.’
Mr Satterthwaite twittered into speech as soon as the door had closed behind the others.
‘I–I am sure, Inspector, that you have the case excellently in hand. Excellently. I just felt that–having, as I say, a very strong feeling–’
The Inspector arrested further speech with an upraised hand.
‘You’re quite right, Mr Satterthwaite. The lady was murdered.’
‘You knew it?’ Mr Satterthwaite was chagrined.
‘There