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There was a tap on the door. Hilary answered it and disclosed Mr. Fox. “How do you do,” Hilary said angrily.
Alleyn introduced them and proceeded, painstakingly, to rehearse the circumstances leading to the discovery of Moult. Hilary interrupted the recital with petulant interjections.
“Well, now you’ve found it,” he said when he had allowed Alleyn to finish, “what happens? What is expected of me? My servants will no doubt be in an advanced state of hysteria, and I wouldn’t be surprised if one and all they gave me notice. But command me. What must I do?”
Alleyn said, “I know what a bore it all is for you, but it really can’t be helped. Can it? We’ll trouble you as little as possible and, after all, if you don’t mind a glimpse of the obvious, it’s been an even greater bore for Moult.”
Hilary turned slightly pink. “Now you’re making me feel shabby,” he said. “What an alarming man you are. One doesn’t know where to have you. Well — what shall I do?”
“Colonel Forrester must be told that Moult has been found, that he’s dead, that he’s been murdered, and that we shall ask the Colonel to identify the body?”
“Oh no!” Hilary shouted. “How beastly for him! Poorest Uncle Flea! Well, I can’t tell him. I’ll come with you if you do,” he added. “I mean if you tell him. Oh all right, then, I’ll tell him but I’d like you to come.”
He walked about the room, muttering disconsolately.
Alleyn said, “But of course I’ll come. I’d rather be there.”
“On the watch!” Hilary pounced. “That’s it, isn’t it? Looking out for the way we all behave?”
“See here,” Alleyn said. “You manoeuvred me into taking this case. For more than one reason I tried to get out of it but here, in the event, I am, and very largely by your doing. Having played for me and got me, I’m afraid you’ll have to lump me and that’s the long and the short of it.”
Hilary stared at him for some seconds and then the odd face Troy had likened to that of a rather good-looking camel broke into a smile.
“How you do cut one down to size!” he said. “And of course you’re right. I’m behaving badly. My dear man, do believe me, really I’m quite ashamed of myself and I am, indeed I am, more than thankful we are in your hands. Peccavi, peccavi,” cried Hilary, putting his hands together and after a moment, with a decisive air: “Well! The sooner it’s over the better, no doubt. Shall we seek out Uncle Flea?”
But there was no need to seek him out. He was coming agitatedly along the corridor with his wife at his heels, both wearing their dressing gowns.
“There you are!” he said. “They’ve found him, haven’t they? They’ve found poor Moult.”
“Come in, Uncle,” Hilary said. “Auntie — come in.”
They came in, paused at the sight of Alleyn and Fox, said, “Good morning,” and turned simultaneously on Hilary. “Speak up, do,” said Mrs. Forrester. “He’s been found?”
“How did you know? Yes,” said Hilary. “He has.”
“Is he —?”
“Yes, Uncle Flea, I’m afraid so. I’m awfully sorry.”
“You’d better sit down, Fred. Hilary; your uncle had belter sit down.”
Colonel Forrester turned to Alleyn. “Please tell me exactly what has happened,” he said. “I should like a full report.”
“Shall we obey orders and sit down, sir? It’ll take a little time.”
The Colonel made a slight impatient gesture but he took the chair Hilary pushed forward. Mrs. Forrester walked over to the windows, folded her arms and throughout Alleyn’s recital stared out at the landscape. Hilary sat on his grand bed and Fox performed his usual feat of self-effacement.
Alleyn gave a full account of the finding of Moult’s body and, in answer to some surprisingly succinct and relevant questions from the Colonel, of the events that led up to it. As he went on he sensed a growing tension in his audience: in their stillness, in Mrs. Forrester’s withdrawal, in her husband’s extreme quietude and in Hilary’s painful concentration.
When he had finished there was a long silence. And then, without turning away from the window or, indeed, making any movements, Mrs. Forrester said, “Well, Hilary, your experiment has ended as might have been predicted. In disaster.”
Alleyn waited for an expostulation, if not from the Colonel, at least from Hilary. But Hilary sat mum on his magnificent bed and the Colonel, after a long pause, turned to look at him and said: “Sorry, old boy. But there it is. Bad luck. My poor old Moult,” said the Colonel with a break in his voice. “Well — there it is.”
Alleyn said: “Do I take it that you all suppose one of the servants is responsible?”
They moved just enough to look at him.
“We mustn’t lose our common sense, you know, Alleyn,” said the Colonel. “A man’s record is always the best guide. You may depend upon it.”
“Uncle Flea, I wish I could think you’re wrong.”
“I know, old boy. I know you do.”
“The question is,” said Mrs. Forrester. “Which?”
Hilary threw up his hands and then buried his face in them.
“Nonsense!” said his aunt glancing at him. “Don’t playact, Hilary.”
“No, B! Not fair: He’s not play-acting. It’s a disappointment.”
“A bitter one,” said Hilary.
“Although,” his aunt went on, pursuing her own line of thought, “It’s more a matter of which isn’t guilty. Personally, I would think it’s a conspiracy involving the lot with the possible exception of the madman.” She turned her head slightly. “Is that the view of the police?” she asked, over her shoulder.
“No,” Alleyn said mildly.
“No! What do you mean, ‘No’?”
“No, I don’t think the servants conspired to murder Moult. I think that with the exception of Nigel they conspired to get rid of the body because they knew they would be suspected. It seems they were not far wrong. But of course it was an idiotic thing to do.”
“May I ask,” said Mrs. Forrester very loudly, “if you realize what this extraordinary theory implies? May I ask you that?”
“But of course,” Alleyn said politely. “Do, please. Ask.”
“It implies — ” she began on a high note and then appeared to boggle.
“There’s no need to spell it out, Aunt B.”
“— something perfectly ridiculous,” she barked. “I said, something perfectly ridiculous.”
Alleyn said, “I’m sorry to have to ask you this, sir, but there’s the matter of formal identification.”
Colonel Forrester said, “What? Oh! Oh, yes, of course. You — you want me to — to —”
“Unless there is a member of his family within call? There will presumably be relations who should be informed. Perhaps you can help us there? Who is the next-of-kin, do you know?”
This produced a strange reaction. For a moment Alleyn wondered if Colonel Forrester was going to have one of his “turns.” He became white and then red in the face. He looked everywhere but at Alleyn. He opened his mouth and then shut it again, half rose and sank back in his chair.
“He had no people,” he said at last, “that I know of. He — he has told me. There are none.”
“I see. Then, as his employer —”
“I’ll just get dressed,” the Colonel said and rose to his feet.
“No!” Mrs. Forrester interjected. She left the window and joined him. “You can’t, Fred. It’ll upset you. I can do it, I said I can do it.”
“Certainly not,” he said with an edge to his voice that evidently startled his wife and Hilary. “Please don’t interfere, B. I shall be ready in ten minutes, Alleyn.”
“Thank you very much, sir. I’ll join you in the hall.”
He opened the door for the Colonel who squared his shoulders, lifted his chin and walked out.
Alleyn said to Mrs. Forrester. “It can wait a little. There’s no need for him to come at once. If you think it will really upset him —”
“It doesn’t in the least matter what I think. He’s made up his mind,” she said and followed him out.
They hadn’t been able to make what Mr. Fox called a nice job of Moult’s body, owing to its being in an advanced state of rigor mortis. They had borrowed a sheet to cover it and had put it on a table in an old harness room. When Alleyn turned back the sheet Moult seemed to be frozen in the act of shaking his fist at the Colonel and uttering a soundless scream out of the head that was so grossly misplaced on its trunk.