bandanna and mopped his forehead. “So,” he grunted, “you find the atmosphere getting thick, hey? Well, I’ve had more of it than you. I don’t know what ‘Donald’s’ last name is, my boy, but I suspect he’s going to be our chief witness. Point number one: Donald is in all probability Eleanor Carvers caius —”
“Kindly talk sense,” interrupted Hadley, with asperity. “I don’t know why it is, but the very sight of a murder seems to rouse all your worst tendencies towards scholarship. What in hell is a caius ?” Dr. Fell wheezed. “I use the word,” he said, “in preference to employing the nauseating modern term ‘boy friend.’ Be quiet, will you? Anyway, I’m jolly certain he’s not her fiancé, since she is apparently compelled to meet him on the roof in the middle of the night—”
“Rot,” said Hadley. “Nobody meets on roofs. Which is Eleanor, the blonde?”
“Yes. And that’s where you underestimate either somebody’s romantic spirit or somebody’s sense of extreme practicality. I’m not sure yet, but … Aha! Well, Pierce?”
The constable, a man of extreme thoroughness, looked guilty and somewhat nervous when he saw Hadley. He saluted. His flush of success with the shoes and broken window had stimulated him; but he was a grimy and somewhat bedraggled object. Hadley’s eye raked him.
“Now what the devil,” he said, “have you been doing? Climbing trees?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the constable. “It was Dr. Fell’s orders, sir. There was nobody up there. But there has been, sir, several times. Cigarette ends all over the place, especially in a big flat place in the middle of all the chimneys. There’s a trap-door that leads down into the house, not very far away from the skylight in Mr. Boscombe’s room.”
Hadley looked curiously at Dr. Fell. “Naturally,” he remarked, “it never occurred to your subtle mind to send him up through the trap-door to the roof, instead of climbing a tree?”
“Well, it occurred to me that it would have given whoever might have been on that roof an excellent chance to make a getaway—if he were still on the roof. He must have missed his footing, got his fall, and been dragged into the house some time ago … H’m. Besides, Hadley, the door going up to that roof is locked. And I suspect we’re going to have a devil of a time finding the key.”
“Why?”
A voice struck in: “Excuse me, gentlemen—” and even the stolid Hadley, with Ames’s death heavy upon him, was so jumpy that he whirled round with a curse. The big, mild-eyed Mr. Johannus Carver seemed taken aback. He had drawn on a pair of trousers over his pyjamas, and his hands plucked at the braces.
“No, no,” he urged. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. Not at all. But I overheard you asking Mrs. Steffins for a room. Allow me to place our sitting-room at your disposal. Over this way.” He hesitated. The big head and overhanging brows made shadows under his eyes. “I don’t know much about such things, but may I ask whether you have made any progress?”
“A good deal,” said Dr. Fell. “Mr. Carver, who is ‘Donald’?”
“Good God!” said Carver, jumping a little. “Is he here again?
Tell him to leave, my dear sir! At once! Mrs. Steffins will—” Hadley sized him up, and did not seem impressed.
“We’ll use that room, thanks,” he said. “And I shall want to ask everybody in the house some questions presently, if you will round them up … As for friend Donald, I don’t think he’ll be able to leave for some time. The general opinion seems to be that he tumbled out of a tree.”
“Then—” said Carver, and caught himself up. He hesitated, with a deprecating eye on them as though he were about to say that boys will be boys and tumble out of trees sometimes; but he only coughed.
“Well?” Hadley asked, sharply. “Was he in the habit of spending his evenings on the roof?”
Melson had a sudden feeling that this cryptic old clockmaker was
“Kindly talk sense,” interrupted Hadley, with asperity. “I don’t know why it is, but the very sight of a murder seems to rouse all your worst tendencies towards scholarship. What in hell is a caius ?” Dr. Fell wheezed. “I use the word,” he said, “in preference to employing the nauseating modern term ‘boy friend.’ Be quiet, will you? Anyway, I’m jolly certain he’s not her fiancé, since she is apparently compelled to meet him on the roof in the middle of the night—”
“Rot,” said Hadley. “Nobody meets on roofs. Which is Eleanor, the blonde?”
“Yes. And that’s where you underestimate either somebody’s romantic spirit or somebody’s sense of extreme practicality. I’m not sure yet, but … Aha! Well, Pierce?”
The constable, a man of extreme thoroughness, looked guilty and somewhat nervous when he saw Hadley. He saluted. His flush of success with the shoes and broken window had stimulated him; but he was a grimy and somewhat bedraggled object. Hadley’s eye raked him.
“Now what the devil,” he said, “have you been doing? Climbing trees?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the constable. “It was Dr. Fell’s orders, sir. There was nobody up there. But there has been, sir, several times. Cigarette ends all over the place, especially in a big flat place in the middle of all the chimneys. There’s a trap-door that leads down into the house, not very far away from the skylight in Mr. Boscombe’s room.”
Hadley looked curiously at Dr. Fell. “Naturally,” he remarked, “it never occurred to your subtle mind to send him up through the trap-door to the roof, instead of climbing a tree?”
“Well, it occurred to me that it would have given whoever might have been on that roof an excellent chance to make a getaway—if he were still on the roof. He must have missed his footing, got his fall, and been dragged into the house some time ago … H’m. Besides, Hadley, the door going up to that roof is locked. And I suspect we’re going to have a devil of a time finding the key.”
“Why?”
A voice struck in: “Excuse me, gentlemen—” and even the stolid Hadley, with Ames’s death heavy upon him, was so jumpy that he whirled round with a curse. The big, mild-eyed Mr. Johannus Carver seemed taken aback. He had drawn on a pair of trousers over his pyjamas, and his hands plucked at the braces.
“No, no,” he urged. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. Not at all. But I overheard you asking Mrs. Steffins for a room. Allow me to place our sitting-room at your disposal. Over this way.” He hesitated. The big head and overhanging brows made shadows under his eyes. “I don’t know much about such things, but may I ask whether you have made any progress?”
“A good deal,” said Dr. Fell. “Mr. Carver, who is ‘Donald’?”
“Good God!” said Carver, jumping a little. “Is he here again?
Tell him to leave, my dear sir! At once! Mrs. Steffins will—” Hadley sized him up, and did not seem impressed.
“We’ll use that room, thanks,” he said. “And I shall want to ask everybody in the house some questions presently, if you will round them up … As for friend Donald, I don’t think he’ll be able to leave for some time. The general opinion seems to be that he tumbled out of a tree.”
“Then—” said Carver, and caught himself up. He hesitated, with a deprecating eye on them as though he were about to say that boys will be boys and tumble out of trees sometimes; but he only coughed.
“Well?” Hadley asked, sharply. “Was he in the habit of spending his evenings on the roof?”
Melson had a sudden feeling that this cryptic old clockmaker was
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