"Nervous?" asked the Inspector, looking puzzled. "Why?"
"Well, I'm not usually nervous," she told him, speaking with great feeling, "but it occurred to me that I'd never been alone in the house at night."
She paused. "Yes, go on," the Inspector encouraged her.
"I told myself not to be so silly. I said to myself, 'You've got the phone, haven't you? You can always ring for help.' I said to myself, 'Burglars don't come at this time of the evening. They come in the middle of the night.' But I still kept thinking I heard a door shutting somewhere, or footsteps up in my bedroom. So I thought I'd better do something."
She paused again, and again the Inspector prompted her. "Yes?"
"I went into the kitchen," Clarissa said, "and made the sandwiches for Henry and Mr. Jones to have when they got back. I got them all ready on a plate, with a napkin around them to keep them soft, and I was just coming across the hall to put them in here, when" – she paused dramatically – "I really heard something."
"Where?" the Inspector asked.
"In this room," she told him. "I knew that, this time, I wasn't imagining it. I heard drawers being pulled open and shut, and then I suddenly remembered that the French windows in here weren't locked. We never do lock them. Somebody had come in that way."
Again she paused. "Go on, Mrs. Hailsham-Brown," said the Inspector impassively.
Clarissa made a gesture of helplessness. "I didn't know what to do. I was petrified. Then I thought, 'What if I'm just being a fool? What if it's Henry come back for something – or even Sir Rowland or one of the others? A nice fool you'll look if you go upstairs and ring the police on the extension.' So then I thought of a plan."
She paused once more, and the Inspector's "Yes?" this time sounded a trifle impatient.
"I went to the hall stand," Clarissa said slowly, "and I took the heaviest stick I could find. Then I went into the library. I didn't turn the light on. I felt my way across the room to that recess. I opened it very gently and slipped inside. I thought I could ease the door into here and see who it was." She pointed to the panel. "Unless anyone knew about it, you'd never dream there was a door just there."
"No," the Inspector agreed, "you certainly wouldn't."
Clarissa seemed now to be almost enjoying her narrative. "I eased the catch open," she continued, "and then my fingers slipped, and the door swung right open and hit against a chair. A man who was standing by the desk straightened up. I saw something bright and shining in his hand. I thought it was a revolver. I was terrified. I thought he was going to shoot me. I hit out at him with the stick with all my might, and he fell."
She collapsed and leaned on the table with her face in her hands. "Could I... could I have a little brandy, please?" she asked the Inspector.
"Yes, of course." The Inspector got to his feet. "Jones!" he called. The Constable rose, poured some brandy into a glass and handed it to the Inspector. Clarissa had lifted her face, but quickly covered it with her hands again and held out her hand as the Inspector brought her the brandy. She drank, coughed, and returned the glass to the Inspector. He, in turn, handed it to the Constable, who replaced it on a table and resumed his seat and his note-taking.
The Inspector looked at Clarissa. "Do you feel able to continue, Mrs. Hailsham-Brown?" he asked sympathetically.
"Yes," Clarissa replied, glancing up at him. "You're very kind." She took a breath and continued her story. "The man just lay there. He didn't move. I switched on the light and I saw then that it was Oliver Costello. He was dead. It was terrible. I – I couldn't understand it."
She gestured towards the desk. "I couldn't understand what he was doing there, tampering with the desk. It was all like some ghastly nightmare. I was so frightened that I rang the golf club. I wanted my guardian to be with me. They all came over. I begged them to help me, to take the body away – somewhere."
The Inspector stared at her intently. "But why?" he asked.
Clarissa turned away from him. "Because I was a coward," she said. "A miserable coward. I was frightened of the publicity, of having to go to a police court. And it would be so bad for my husband and for his career."
She turned back to the Inspector. "If it had really been a burglar, perhaps I could have gone through with it, but being someone we actually knew, someone who is married to Henry's first wife... Oh, I just felt I couldn't go through with it."
"Perhaps," the Inspector suggested, "because the dead man had, a short while before, attempted to blackmail you?"
"Blackmail me? Oh, that's nonsense!" Clarissa replied with complete confidence. "That's just silly. There's nothing anyone could blackmail me about."
"Elgin, your butler, overheard a mention of blackmail," the Inspector told her.
"I don't believe he heard anything of the kind," replied Clarissa. "He couldn't. If you ask me, he's making the whole thing up."
"Come now, Mrs. Hailsham-Brown," the Inspector insisted, "are you deliberately telling me that the word blackmail was never mentioned? Why would your butler make it up?"
"I swear there was no mention of blackmail," Clarissa exclaimed, banging the table with her left hand. "I assure you – " Her hand stopped in mid-air, and she suddenly laughed. "Oh, how silly. Of course. That was it."
"You've remembered?" the Inspector asked calmly.
"It was nothing, really," Clarissa assured him. "It was just that Oliver was saying something about the rent of furnished houses being absurdly high, and I said we'd been amazingly lucky and were only paying four guineas a week for this. And he said, 'I can hardly believe it, Clarissa. What's your pull? It must be blackmail.' And I laughed and said, 'That's it. Blackmail.'" She laughed now, apparently recalling the exchange. "Just a silly, joking way of talking. Why, I didn't even remember it."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hailsham-Brown," said the Inspector, "but I really can't believe that."
Clarissa looked astonished. "Can't believe what?"
"That you're only paying four guineas a week for this house, furnished."
"Honestly! You really are the most unbelieving man I've ever met," Clarissa told him as she rose and went to the desk. "You don't seem to believe a single thing I've said to you this evening. Most things I can't prove, but this one I can. And this time I'm going to show you."
She opened a drawer of the desk and searched through the papers in it. "Here it is," she exclaimed. "No, it isn't. Ah! Here we are." She took a document from the drawer and showed it to the Inspector. "Here's the agreement for our tenancy of this house, furnished. It's made out by a firm of solicitors acting for the executors and, look – four guineas per week."
The Inspector looked jolted. "Well, I'm blessed! It's extraordinary. Quite extraordinary. I'd have thought it was worth much more than that."
Clarissa gave him one of her most charming smiles.
"Don't you think, Inspector, that you ought to beg my pardon?" she suggested.
The Inspector injected a certain amount of charm into his voice as he responded. "I do apologise, Mrs. Hailsham-Brown," he said, "but it really is extremely odd, you know."
"Why? What do you mean?" Clarissa asked, as she replaced the document in the drawer.
"Well, it so happens," the Inspector replied, "that a lady and a gentleman were down in this area with orders to view this house, and the lady happened to lose a very valuable brooch somewhere in the vicinity. She called in at the police station to give particulars, and she happened to mention this house. She said the owners were asking an absurd price. She thought eighteen guineas a week for a house out in the country and miles from anywhere was ridiculous. I thought so too."
"Yes, that is extraordinary, very extraordinary," Clarissa agreed, with a friendly smile. "I understand why you were sceptical. But perhaps now you'll believe some of the other things I said."
"I'm not doubting your final story, Mrs. Hailsham-Brown," the Inspector assured her. "We usually know the truth when we hear it. I knew, too, that there would have to be some serious reason for those three gentlemen to cook up this hare-brained scheme of concealment."
"You mustn't blame them too much, Inspector," Clarissa pleaded. "It was my fault. I went on and on at them."
All too aware of her charm, the Inspector replied, "Ah, I've no doubt you did. But what I still don't understand is, who telephoned the police in the first place and reported the murder?"
"Yes, that is extraordinary!" said Clarissa, sounding startled. "I'd completely forgotten that."
"It clearly wasn't you," the Inspector pointed out, "and it wouldn't have been any of the three gentlemen..."
Clarissa shook her head. "Could it have been Elgin?" she wondered. "Or perhaps Miss Peake?"
"I don't think it could possibly have been Miss Peake," said the Inspector. "She clearly didn't know Costello's body was there."
"I wonder if that's so," said Clarissa thoughtfully.
"After all, when the body was discovered, she had hysterics," the Inspector reminded her.
"Oh, that's nothing. Anyone can have hysterics," Clarissa remarked incautiously. The Inspector shot her a suspicious glance, at which she felt it expedient to give him as innocent a smile as she could manage.
"Anyway, Miss Peake doesn't live in the house," the Inspector observed. "She has her own cottage in the grounds."
"But she could have been in the house," said Clarissa. "You know, she has keys to all the doors."
The Inspector shook his head. "No, it looks to me more like Elgin who must have called us," he said.
Clarissa moved closer to him and flashed him a somewhat anxious smile. "You're not going to send me to prison, are you?" she asked. "Uncle Roly said he was sure you wouldn't."
The Inspector gave her an austere look. "It's a good thing you changed your story in time and told us the truth, madam," he advised her sternly. "But, if I may say so, Mrs. Hailsham-Brown, I think you should get in touch with your solicitor as soon as possible and give him all the relevant facts. In the meantime, I'll get your statement typed out and read over to you, and perhaps you will be good enough to sign it."
Clarissa was about to reply when the hall door opened and Sir Rowland entered. "I couldn't keep away any longer," he explained. "Is it all right now, Inspector? Do you understand what our dilemma was?"
Clarissa went across to her guardian before he could say any more. "Roly, darling," she greeted him, taking his hand. "I've made a statement, and the police – or rather, Mr. Jones here – is going to type it out. Then I've got to sign it, and I've told them everything."
The Inspector went over to confer with his constable, and Clarissa continued speaking to Sir Rowland. "I told them how I thought it was a burglar," she said with emphasis, "and hit him on the head..."
When Sir Rowland looked at her in alarm and opened his mouth to speak, she quickly covered his mouth with her hands so that he could not get the words out. She continued hurriedly, "Then I told them how it turned out to be Oliver Costello, and how I got in a terrible flap and rang you, and how I begged and begged and at last you all gave in. I see now how wrong of me it was..."
The Inspector turned back to them, and Clarissa removed her hand from Sir Rowland's mouth just in time. "But when it happened," she was saying, "I was just scared stiff, and I thought it would be cosier for everybody – me, Henry and even Miranda – if Oliver was found in Marsden Wood."
Sir Rowland looked aghast. "Clarissa! What on earth have you been saying?" he gasped.
"Mrs. Hailsham-Brown has made a very full statement, sir," the Inspector said complacently.
Recovering himself somewhat, Sir Rowland replied drily, "So it seems."
"It's the best thing to do," said Clarissa. "In fact, it was the only thing to do. The Inspector made me see that. And I'm truly sorry to have told all those silly lies."
"It will lead to far less trouble in the end," the Inspector assured her. "Now, Mrs. Hailsham-Brown," he went on, "I shan't ask you to go into the recess while the body is still there, but I'd like you to show me exactly where the man was standing when you came through that way into this room."
"Oh... yes... well... he was..." Clarissa began hesitantly. She went across to the desk. "No," she continued, "I remember now. He was standing here like this." She stood at one end of the desk and leaned over it.
"Be ready to open the panel when I give you the word, Jones," said the Inspector, motioning to the Constable, who rose and put his hand on the panel switch.
"I see," the Inspector said to Clarissa. "That's where he was standing. And then the door opened and you came out. All right, I don't want you to have to look in there at the body now, so just stand in front of the panel when it opens. Now – Jones."
The Constable activated the switch, and the panel opened. The recess, however, was empty except for a small piece of paper on the floor, which Constable Jones retrieved, while the Inspector looked accusingly at Clarissa and Sir Rowland.
The Constable read out what was on the slip of paper. "Sucks to you!" As the Inspector snatched the paper from him, Clarissa and Sir Rowland looked at each other in astonishment.
