‘Yes.’
‘Leaning up against the mantelpiece hoping to God someone would offer me a drink soon,’ replied Miss Hinchcliffe promptly.
‘Do you think that the shots were fired blindly, or aimed carefully at one particular person?’
‘You mean aimed at Letty Blacklock? How the devil should I know? Damned hard to sort out what your impressions really were or what really happened after it’s all over. All I know is the lights went out, and that torch went whirling round dazzling us all, and then the shots were fired and I thought to myself, “If that damned young fool Patrick Simmons is playing his jokes with a loaded revolver somebody will get hurt.”’
‘You thought it was Patrick Simmons?’
‘Well, it seemed likely. Edmund Swettenham is intellectual and writes books and doesn’t care for horseplay, and old Colonel Easterbrook wouldn’t think that sort of thing funny. But Patrick’s a wild boy. However, I apologize to him for the idea.’
‘Did your friend think it might be Patrick Simmons?’
‘Murgatroyd? You’d better talk to her yourself. Not that you’ll get any sense out of her. She’s down the orchard. I’ll yell for her if you like.’
Miss Hinchcliffe raised her stentorian voice in a powerful bellow:
‘Hi-youp, Murgatroyd…’
‘Coming…’ floated back a thin cry.
‘Hurry up—Polieece,’ bellowed Miss Hinchcliffe.
Miss Murgatroyd arrived at a brisk trot very much out of breath. Her skirt was down at the hem and her hair was escaping from an inadequate hair net. Her round, good-natured face beamed.
‘Is it Scotland Yard?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘I’d no idea. Or I wouldn’t have left the house.’
‘We haven’t called in Scotland Yard yet, Miss Murgatroyd. I’m Inspector Craddock from Milchester.’
‘Well, that’s very nice, I’m sure,’ said Miss Murgatroyd vaguely. ‘Have you found any clues?’
‘Where were you at the time of the crime, that’s what he wants to know, Murgatroyd?’ said Miss Hinchcliffe. She winked at Craddock.
‘Oh, dear,’ gasped Miss Murgatroyd. ‘Of course. I ought to have been prepared. Alibis, of course. Now, let me see, I was just with everybody else.’
‘You weren’t with me,’ said Miss Hinchcliffe.
‘Oh, dear, Hinch, wasn’t I? No, of course, I’d been admiring the chrysanthemums. Very poor specimens, really. And then it all happened—only I didn’t really know it had happened—I mean I didn’t know that anything like that had happened. I didn’t imagine for a moment that it was a real revolver—and all so awkward in the dark, and that dreadful screaming. I got it all wrong, you know. I thought she was being murdered—I mean the refugee girl. I thought she was having her throat cut across the hall somewhere. I didn’t know it was him—I mean, I didn’t even know there was a man. It was really just a voice, you know, saying, “Put them up, please.”’
‘“Stick’em up!”’ Miss Hinchcliffe corrected. ‘And no suggestion of “please” about it.’
‘It’s so terrible to think that until that girl started screaming I was actually enjoying myself. Only being in the dark was very awkward and I got a knock on my corn. Agony, it was. Is there anything more you want to know, Inspector?’
‘No,’ said Inspector Craddock, eyeing Miss Murgatroyd speculatively. ‘I don’t really think there is.’
Her friend gave a short bark of laughter.
‘He’s got you taped, Murgatroyd.’
‘I’m sure, Hinch,’ said Miss Murgatroyd, ‘that I’m only too willing to say anything I can.’
‘He doesn’t want that,’ said Miss Hinchcliffe.
She looked at the Inspector. ‘If you’re doing this geographically I suppose you’ll go to the Vicarage next. You might get something there. Mrs Harmon looks as vague as they make them—but I sometimes think she’s got brains. Anyway, she’s got something.’
As they watched the Inspector and Sergeant Fletcher stalk away, Amy Murgatroyd said breathlessly:
‘Oh, Hinch, was I very awful? I do get so flustered!’
‘Not at all,’ Miss Hinchcliffe smiled. ‘On the whole, I should say you did very well.’
VI
Inspector Craddock looked round the big shabby room with a sense of pleasure. It reminded him a little of his own Cumberland home. Faded chintz, big shabby chairs, flowers and books strewn about, and a spaniel in a basket. Mrs Harmon, too, with her distraught air, and her general disarray and her eager face he found sympathetic.