“Nobody,” he said. “No.”
“You’re certain of that?”
“Absolutely,” said Antony, as though rather surprised that he could be suspected of a mistake.
“Thank you. You’re at ‘The George,’ if I want you?”
“Mr. Gillingham is staying here until after the inquest,” explained Cayley.
“Good. Well now, about these servants?”
Mr. Gillingham Chooses a New Profession
As Cayley went over to the bell, Antony got up and moved to the door.
“Well, you won’t want me, I suppose, inspector,” he said.
“No, thank you, Mr. Gillingham. You’ll be about, of course?”
The inspector hesitated.
“I think, Mr. Cayley, it would be better if I saw the servants alone. You know what they are; the more people about, the more they get alarmed. I expect I can get at the truth better by myself.”
“Oh, quite so. In fact, I was going to ask you to excuse me. I feel rather responsible towards these guests of ours. Although Mr. Gillingham very kindly—” He smiled at Antony, who was waiting at the door, and left his sentence unfinished.
“Ah, that reminds me,” said the Inspector. “Didn’t you say that one of your guests—Mr. Beverley was it?—a friend of Mr. Gillingham’s, was staying on?”
“Yes; would you like to see him?”
“Afterwards, if I may.”
“I’ll warn him. I shall be up in my room, if you want me. I have a room upstairs where I work—any of the servants will show you. Ah, Stevens, Inspector Birch would like to ask you a few questions.”
“Yes, sir,” said Audrey primly, but inwardly fluttering. The housekeeper’s room had heard something of the news by this time, and Audrey had had a busy time explaining to other members of the staff exactly what he had said, and what she had said. The details were not quite established yet, but this much at least was certain: that Mr. Mark’s brother had shot himself and spirited Mr. Mark away, and that Audrey had seen at once that he was that sort of man when she opened the door to him. She had passed the remark to Mrs. Stevens. And Mrs. Stevens—if you remember, Audrey—had always said that people didn’t go away to Australia except for very good reasons. Elsie agreed with both of them, but she had a contribution of her own to make. She had actually heard Mr. Mark in the office, threatening his brother.
“You mean Mr. Robert,” said the second parlour-maid. She had been having a little nap in her room, but she had heard the bang. In fact, it had woken her up—just like something going off, it was.
“It was Mr. Mark’s voice,” said Elsie firmly.
“Pleading for mercy,” said an eager-eyed kitchen-maid hopefully from the door, and was hurried out again by the others, wishing that she had not given her presence away. But it was hard to listen in silence when she knew so well from her novelettes just what happened on these occasions.