‘Ah,’ said Ernie, ‘wouldn’t you like to know?’
Gina made a rush at him and he beat a strategic retreat.
Stephen came over from the other side of the theatre and joined Gina. They discussed various tehnical matters and then, side by side, they walked back towards the house.
‘Is this about the place where you stopped your car last night?’ he asked.
Alex Restarick stood back a little as though considering.
‘Near enough,’ he said. ‘It’s difficult to tell exactly because of the fog. Yes, I should say this was the place.’
Inspector Curry stood looking round with an apprais ing eye.
The gravelled sweep of drive swept round in a slow curve, and at this point, emerging from a screen of rhododendrons, the west facade of the house came suddenly into view with its terrace and yew hedges and steps leading down to the lawns. Thereafter the drive continued in its curving progress, sweeping through a belt of trees and round between the lake and the house until it ended in the big gravel sweep at the east side of the house.
‘Dodgett,’ said Inspector Curry.
Police Constable Dodgett, who had been holding himself at the ready, started spasmodically into motion.
He hurled himself across the intervening space of lawn in a diagonal line towards the house, reached the terrace, went in by the side door. A few moments later the curtains of one of the windows were violently agitated.
Then Constable Dodgett reappeared out of the garden door, and ran back to rejoin them, breathing like a steam engine.
‘Two minutes and forty-two seconds,’ said Inspector Curry, clicking the stop watch with which he had been timing him. ‘They don’t take long, these things, do they?’ His tone was pleasantly conversational.
‘I don’t run as fast as your constable,’ said Alex. ‘I presume it is my supposed movements you have been timing?’ ‘I’m just pointing out that you hact the opportunity to do murder. That’s all, Mr Restarick. I’m not making any accusations – as yet.’ Alex Restarick said kindly to Constable Dodgett, who was still panting: ‘I can’t run as fast as you can, but I believe I’m in better training.’ ‘It’s since ‘having the bronchitis last winter,’ said Dodgett.
Alex turned back to the Inspector.
‘Seriously, though, in spite of crying to make me uncomfortable and observing my reactions – and you must remember that we artistic folk are oh! so sensitive, such tender plants? – his voice took on a mocking note ‘you can’t really believe I had anythirg to do with all this?
I’d hardly send a box of poisoned chocolates to Mrs Serrocold and put my card inside, would I?’ ‘That might be what we are meatat to think. There’s such a thing as a double bluff, Mr lestarick.’ ‘Oh, I see. How ingenious you ar. By the way, those chocolates were poisoned?’ ‘The six chocolates containing Kirsch flavouring in the top layer were poisoned, yes. They contained aconitine.’ ‘Not one of my favourite poisons, Inspector. Personally, I have a weakness for curare.’ ‘Curare has to be introduced into tlae bloodstream, Mr Restarick,’not into the stomach.’ ‘How wonderfully knowledgeable the police force are,’ said Alex admiringly.
Inspector Curry cast a quiet sideways glance at the young man. He noted the slightly pointed ears, the unEnglish Mongolian type of face. The eyes that danced with mischievous mockery. It would have been hard at any time to know what Alex Restarick was thinking. A satyr – or did he mean a faun? An overfed faun, Inspector Curry thought suddenly, and somehow there was an unpleasantness about that idea.
A twister with brains – that’s how he would sum up Alex Restarick. Cleverer than his brother. Mother had been a Russian or so he had heard. ‘Russians’ to Inspector Curry were what ‘Bony’ had been in the early days of the nineteenth century, and what ‘the Huns’ had been in the early twentieth century. Anything to do with Russia was bad in Inspector Curry’s opinion, and if Alex Restarick had murdered Gulbrandsen he would be a very satisfactory criminal. But unfortunately Curry was by no means convinced that he had.
Constable Dodgett, having recovered his breath, now spoke.