A few minutes later there was yet another knock at the door and a very flustered Sergeant Dobson peered in.
‘Ah, Dobson, good man,’ said the inspector. ‘There’s been a slight change of plan and I’m going to need you to take Miss Montgomery to the police station after all. But I suppose you might as well both come out onto the terrace for Lady Hardcastle’s announcement before you go. We’ll see if we can snag you some sandwiches.’
‘Ah, now, see, I’ve got some bad news on that score, sir.’
‘What sort of bad news?’
‘It’s the lady, sir. She’s… ah… she’s done a bunk, sir.’
‘Oh for the love of–’
‘I’m most dreadfully sorry, sir.’
‘How, sergeant?’
‘Well, Sir Hector let us use his upstairs study, sir. It’s out of the way, like. So we was up there and she starts fidgeting with her… with her underthings, and she says, “Sorry, sergeant, but my corsets seem to have got a bit twisted. Would you mind popping outside while I straighten myself out. Just for a minute, there’s a love.” So I did. I went out and sat on a chair on the landing, like.’
‘How long did you leave her?’
‘She was ages, sir. A good few minutes.’
‘And you didn’t think to check what she was up to?’
‘Well, no, sir. Not at first. She was… you know… she was… rearranging herself.’
The inspector sighed.
‘But after a few minutes I did knock on the door, but there was no answer,’ said the sergeant.
‘And when you went in, she’d gone.’
‘She had, sir. Out the window.’
‘But you took her shoes?’
‘Well, no, sir, didn’t seem much point. We was up on the first floor. Where was she going to go?’
‘Out the window and down the blessed drainpipe,’ said the inspector with no small amount of exasperation.
‘Yes, sir,’ said the sergeant, sheepishly.
‘Did you look for her?’
‘I had a run round the house, sir, but she’d vanished.’
The inspector sighed again. ‘Oh well, she’ll not get far on foot. Get word out, sergeant, and we’ll see if we can pick her up before she manages to catch a train.’
‘Right you are, sir. Sorry, sir.’ He hurried out.
‘I despair,’ said the inspector, but unfortunately I was laughing so I couldn’t commiserate. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘We’re laughing now, are we?’
‘Oh, come on, Inspector. You’ve got to admit it’s rather funny. And poor old Dobson. He wants so much to get things right. He offered to take her to the cells and we knew she was a slippery customer.’
‘So it’s my fault?’
‘Well, if the shoe fits…’
‘Don’t mention the shoes,’ he said. ‘If he’d taken her blasted shoes, she’d still be sitting up there in her wonky stays.’
I laughed again.
‘I suppose we ought to get out onto the terrace,’ he said. ‘At least Superintendent Witham won’t be here to take the rise out of me in person.’
‘Come on, then, Inspector, take me to tea.’
There was already quite a gathering on the terrace when the inspector and I arrived. Dunn and Skins were sitting together, with Dora hovering around trying to look like she was supposed to be there, but obviously trying to flirt with Dunn. Richman and Haddock were together, deep in whispered conversation. Verma was sitting with Summers and trying to look interested as the empty-headed captain finished off some dreary tale of life in the Raj. Theo Woodfield, Clarissa’s affianced, was hovering near the low wall, looking down into the valley. Sir Hector and Lady Farley-Stroud were in what I presumed to be their usual places at the head of the table, both looking rather subdued and anxious.
The inspector and I stood with our backs to the house, where we could watch them all.
Jenkins was fussing with the tea things on the large table and had just signalled to Dora that they should withdraw when Lady Hardcastle arrived with Clarissa, and Verma’s servant.
Richman was halfway out of his chair in fright when he saw the Man Mountain, but the inspector signalled that he should stay where he was. He sat down, but his eyes never left the imposing figure of the Nepalese servant as he made his way round the table to his master’s side.
When the murmuring had died down a little, Lady Hardastle spoke. ‘I expect you’re wondering,’ she said with evident glee, ‘why I’ve asked you all here.’
I couldn’t resist a grin of my own at the detective story theatricality of it, but no one else seemed impressed or amused.
‘Oh, please yourselves,’ she said. ‘Now we’re all aware of the terrible events of the night of the party. Or their consequences, at least. But until just now, only one among us knew exactly what happened to Mr Holloway.’
I watched the assembled group for any sign of a reaction, and I could see that the inspector was doing the same. To my disappointment, no one betrayed anything other than curiosity.
‘Armstrong and I have spent the past two days in the company of Inspector Sunderland as he questioned most of you, trying to establish just exactly what happened on that fateful night. Until a few moments ago we had all the pieces of the puzzle, but no key to fit them together. With so few clocks, no one could remember when anything happened, and no single person seemed to have a clear idea of all the comings and goings. But then it struck me that the one person we hadn’t yet spoken to may well have been paying a great deal more attention to who was at her party and where they were during the evening, and so I spoke to Miss Clarissa. It seems that she does indeed have a very clear recollection of the events of the evening.
Lady Hardcastle continued, ‘She’s a–’
We didn’t find out what she was, though, because at that moment, with much huffing, puffing, and the inevitable Welsh swearing, Bert and Dewi struggled onto the terrace with Lady Hardcastle’s Crime Board. At her instruction, they turned the board round on the easel to reveal the blank reverse. With their task complete, they should probably have returned to their other work, but instead they hung about, hoping to hear what was going on. No one said anything, so they joined Dora at the far side of the table.
Lady Hardcastle began sketching a plan of the ground floor of The Grange on the blackboard. When she was done, she pinned a piece of paper in the top corner of the board and turned to face the assembled residents and guests.
‘There we are,’ she said. ‘That’s the ground floor of the house, and that piece of paper was recovered from the stage. It’s a running order, or “set list” as I believe the musicians call it.’
The musicians sat up a little straighter and nodded their agreement as all eyes turned towards them.
‘Now Miss Clarissa doesn’t wear a wristwatch, she thinks them rather vulgar,’ said Lady Hardcastle, looking at her own watch. ‘But she has a marvellous memory for tunes, and so we’ve managed to piece the events together using the songs to mark the passing of time.’