Problem at Pollensa Bay - Agatha Christie [48]
At last Mr Satterthwaite ceased. He was sure, had been sure all along, of the sympathy of his audience. He waited now the word of praise which was his due. It came.
‘You are an artist, Mr Satterthwaite.’
‘I–I do my best.’ The little man was suddenly humble.
They had turned in at the lodge gates some minutes ago. Now the car drew up in front of the doorway, and a police constable came hurriedly down the steps to meet them.
‘Good evening, sir. Inspector Curtis is in the library.’
‘Right.’
Melrose ran up the steps followed by the other two. As the three of them passed across the wide hall, an elderly butler peered from a doorway apprehensively. Melrose nodded to him.
‘Evening, Miles. This is a sad business.’
‘It is indeed,’ the other quavered. ‘I can hardly believe it, sir; indeed I can’t. To think that anyone should strike down the master.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Melrose, cutting him short. ‘I’ll have a talk with you presently.’
He strode on to the library. There a big, soldierly-looking inspector greeted him with respect.
‘Nasty business, sir. I have not disturbed things. No fingerprints on the weapon. Whoever did it knew his business.’
Mr Satterthwaite looked at the bowed figure sitting at the big writing table, and looked hurriedly away again. The man had been struck down from behind, a smashing blow that had crashed in the skull. The sight was not a pretty one.
The weapon lay on the floor–a bronze figure about two feet high, the base of it stained and wet. Mr Satterthwaite bent over it curiously.
‘A Venus,’ he said softly. ‘So he was struck down by Venus.’
He found food for poetic meditation in the thought.
‘The windows,’ said the inspector, ‘were all closed and bolted on the inside.’
He paused significantly.
‘Making an inside job of it,’ said the chief constable reluctantly. ‘Well–well, we’ll see.’
The murdered man was dressed in golf clothes, and a bag of golf clubs had been flung untidily across a big leather couch.
‘Just come in from the links,’ explained the inspector, following the chief constable’s glance. ‘At five-fifteen, that was. Had tea brought here by the butler. Later he rang for his valet to bring him down a pair of soft slippers. As far as we can tell, the valet was the last person to see him alive.’
Melrose nodded, and turned his attention once more to the writing table.
A good many of the ornaments had been overturned and broken. Prominent among these was a big dark enamel clock, which lay on its side in the very centre of the table.
The inspector cleared his throat.
‘That’s what you might call a piece of luck, sir,’ he said. ‘As you see, it’s stopped. At half past six. That gives us the time of the crime. Very convenient.’
The colonel was staring at the clock.
‘As you say,’ he remarked. ‘Very convenient.’ He paused a minute, and then added, ‘Too damned convenient! I don’t like it, Inspector.’
He looked around at the other two. His eye sought Mr Quin’s with a look of appeal in it.
‘Damn it all,’ he said. ‘It’s too neat. You know what I mean. Things don’t happen like that.’
‘You mean,’ murmured Mr Quin, ‘that clocks don’t fall like that?’
Melrose stared at him for a moment, then back at the clock, which had that pathetic and innocent look familiar to objects which have been suddenly bereft of their dignity. Very carefully Colonel Melrose replaced it on its legs again. He struck the table a violent blow. The clock rocked, but it did not fall. Melrose repeated the action, and very slowly, with a kind of unwillingness, the clock fell over on its back.
‘What time was the crime discovered?’ demanded Melrose sharply.
‘Just about seven o’clock, sir.’
‘Who discovered it?’
‘The butler.’
‘Fetch him in,’ said the chief constable. ‘I’ll see him now. Where is Lady Dwighton, by the way?’
‘Lying down, sir. Her maid says that she’s prostrated and can’t see anyone.’
Melrose nodded, and Inspector Curtis went in search of the butler. Mr Quin was looking thoughtfully into the fireplace. Mr Satterthwaite followed his example. He blinked at the smouldering logs for a minute or two, and then something