Towards Zero - Agatha Christie [67]
Superintendent Battle’s face was quite genial as he greeted them.
“Hope I haven’t disturbed you all,” he said apologetically. “But there are one or two things I’d like to know about. This glove, for instance, who does it belong to?”
He held it out, a small yellow chamois leather glove.
He addressed Audrey.
“Is it yours, Mrs. Strange?”
She shook her head.
“No—no, it isn’t mine.”
“Miss Aldin?”
“I don’t think so. I have none of that colour.”
“May I see?” Kay held out her hand. “No.”
“Perhaps you’d just slip it on.”
Kay tried, but the glove was too small.
“Miss Aldin?”
Mary tried in her turn.
“It’s too small for you also,” said Battle. He turned back to Audrey. “I think you’ll find it fits you all right. Your hand is smaller than either of the other ladies’.”
Audrey took it from him and slipped it on over her right hand.
Nevile Strange said sharply:
“She’s already told you, Battle, that it isn’t her glove.”
“Ah well,” said Battle, “perhaps she made a mistake. Or forgot.”
Audrey said: “It may be mine—gloves are so alike, aren’t they?”
Battle said:
“At any rate it was found outside your window, Mrs. Strange, pushed down into the ivy—with its fellow.”
There was a pause. Audrey opened her mouth to speak, then closed it up again. Her eyes fell before the Superintendent’s steady gaze.
Nevile sprang forward. “Look here, Superintendent—”
“Perhaps we might have a word with you, Mr. Strange, privately?” Battle said gravely.
“Certainly, Superintendent. Come into the library.”
He led the way and the two police officers followed him.
As soon as the door had closed Nevile said sharply:
“What’s this ridiculous story about gloves outside my wife’s window?”
Battle said quietly: “Mr. Strange, we’ve found some very curious things in this house.”
Nevile frowned.
“Curious? What do you mean by curious?”
“I’ll show you.”
In obedience to a nod, Leach left the room and came back holding a very strange implement.
Battle said:
“This consists, as you see, sir, of a steel ball taken from a Victorian fender—a heavy steel ball. Then the head has been sawed off a tennis racquet and the ball has been screwed into the handle of the racquet.” He paused. “I think there can be no doubt that this is what was used to kill Lady Tressilian.”
“Horrible!” said Nevile with a shudder. “But where did you find this—this nightmare?”
“The ball had been cleaned and put back on the fender. The murderer had, however, neglected to clean the screw. We found a trace of blood on that. In the same way the handle and the head of the racquet were joined together again by means of adhesive surgical plaster. It was then thrown carelessly back into the cupboard under the stairs, where it would probably have remained quite unnoticed amongst so many others if we hadn’t happened to be looking for something of that kind.”
“Smart of you, Superintendent.”
“Just a matter of routine.”
“No fingerprints, I suppose?”
“That racquet which belongs by its weight, I should say, to Mrs. Kay Strange, had been handled by her and also be you and both your prints are on it. But it also shows unmistakable signs that someone wearing gloves handled it after you did. There was just one fingerprint—left this time in inadvertence, I think. That was on the surgical strapping that had been applied to bind the racquet together again. I’m not going for the moment to say whose print that was. I’ve got some other points to mention first.”
Battle paused, then he said:
“I want you to prepare yourself for a shock, Mr. Strange. And first I want to ask you something. Are you quite sure that it was your own idea to have this meeting here and that it was not actually suggested to you by Mrs. Audrey Strange?”
“Audrey did nothing of the sort, Audrey—”
The door opened and Thomas Royde came in.
“Sorry to butt in,” he said, “but I thought I’d like to be in on this.”
Nevile turned a harassed face towards