Lyall?”
“I’ve no reason to believe he did kill Dr. Lyall,” said Forrester, levelly.
“You have some reason to doubt he was the perpetrator?”
“It’s not a question of ‘reason to doubt’,” said Forrester. “It just never occurred to me that he had anything to do with it.”
“Despite the fact that the murder occurred in his rooms? And that you were there when the body fell from his window?”
“It may have been the window of his college rooms, but I understand he was at home when Lyall was killed.”
“Oh, yes?” said Barber swiftly. “Who told you that?”
Forrester caught himself in time.
“The Master,” he said. “The Master went up to Clark’s rooms and called down from the window that he wasn’t there and must therefore be at home.” Barber looked quizzically at him and then glanced at his notebook.
“Actually I believe the Master simply announced that the room was empty and it was you who told him Clark must be at home.”
“I stand corrected,” said Forrester, apparently graciously conceding a point of no importance. Barber looked at him sharply.
“This is a murder enquiry, sir,” he said. “Your friendship with Dr. Clark does not give you license to obstruct our enquiries. I should warn you there is a crime known as ‘accessory to murder’. I’m sure I need hardly point out that a charge to that effect would hardly be good for your standing in this university.” It was a shrewd blow. Forrester knew he had to regain the initiative.
“I hardly think making the assumption that Dr. Clark was at home would give grounds for accusing me of either obstructing the police or being an accessory to murder, Inspector,” he said. “It may or may not have been a false assumption but it was a perfectly natural one. Unlike yourself, I am not, after all, a professional investigator.”
Barber opened his mouth to reply but Forrester went on quickly.
“Let me be clear,” he said, “Gordon was – is – my friend; but if he killed Lyall he has to face justice and I’m not going to do anything to stand in the way of it. It’s just that I find it hard to believe he committed this crime, a belief to which I think I’m entitled. Is that fair enough?”
He said this looking straight back at Barber, inviting him to question his good faith. Barber clearly decided his best move was to capitalise on this moment of intimacy. “But surely, sir, all appearances suggest your friend stabbed Dr. Lyall in a fit of jealous rage.” Forrester’s stomach sank: so they already knew about Margaret and Lyall.
“Jealous rage?” he temporised.
“Didn’t he have reason to be jealous?” said Barber. So they were coming to the crunch at last.
“What reason?” said Forrester.
“I would have thought you would have known that perfectly well, sir,” said Barber.
“I’m sorry, I’m not following you.”
“Are you telling me you were unaware of any reason for Gordon Clark to be jealous of David Lyall?”
And there it was, the trap door in the floor, held politely open for him to step into. He saw Margaret Clark’s face in the lamplight, looking up at him, her lips slightly open. He thought of Barber’s threat if he did not co-operate. He made his decision. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“I see,” said Barber, and let the silence gather. “I have to say I’m a little disappointed in you, Dr. Forrester.”
Forrester said nothing. He had played his cards and he would accept the consequences.
Barber moved in for the kill. “You’re not going to tell me you’re unaware of the Rotherfield Lectureship?”
Forrester’s mouth fell open. The Rotherfield Lectureship?
“Yes, I know about it, of course. But what does that have to do with—”
Barber stabbed the air with his forefinger.
“Are you saying you were unaware of the fact that although Dr. Clark believed himself best qualified to get it, the recommendation was that it should be awarded to Dr.
“I’ve no reason to believe he did kill Dr. Lyall,” said Forrester, levelly.
“You have some reason to doubt he was the perpetrator?”
“It’s not a question of ‘reason to doubt’,” said Forrester. “It just never occurred to me that he had anything to do with it.”
“Despite the fact that the murder occurred in his rooms? And that you were there when the body fell from his window?”
“It may have been the window of his college rooms, but I understand he was at home when Lyall was killed.”
“Oh, yes?” said Barber swiftly. “Who told you that?”
Forrester caught himself in time.
“The Master,” he said. “The Master went up to Clark’s rooms and called down from the window that he wasn’t there and must therefore be at home.” Barber looked quizzically at him and then glanced at his notebook.
“Actually I believe the Master simply announced that the room was empty and it was you who told him Clark must be at home.”
“I stand corrected,” said Forrester, apparently graciously conceding a point of no importance. Barber looked at him sharply.
“This is a murder enquiry, sir,” he said. “Your friendship with Dr. Clark does not give you license to obstruct our enquiries. I should warn you there is a crime known as ‘accessory to murder’. I’m sure I need hardly point out that a charge to that effect would hardly be good for your standing in this university.” It was a shrewd blow. Forrester knew he had to regain the initiative.
“I hardly think making the assumption that Dr. Clark was at home would give grounds for accusing me of either obstructing the police or being an accessory to murder, Inspector,” he said. “It may or may not have been a false assumption but it was a perfectly natural one. Unlike yourself, I am not, after all, a professional investigator.”
Barber opened his mouth to reply but Forrester went on quickly.
“Let me be clear,” he said, “Gordon was – is – my friend; but if he killed Lyall he has to face justice and I’m not going to do anything to stand in the way of it. It’s just that I find it hard to believe he committed this crime, a belief to which I think I’m entitled. Is that fair enough?”
He said this looking straight back at Barber, inviting him to question his good faith. Barber clearly decided his best move was to capitalise on this moment of intimacy. “But surely, sir, all appearances suggest your friend stabbed Dr. Lyall in a fit of jealous rage.” Forrester’s stomach sank: so they already knew about Margaret and Lyall.
“Jealous rage?” he temporised.
“Didn’t he have reason to be jealous?” said Barber. So they were coming to the crunch at last.
“What reason?” said Forrester.
“I would have thought you would have known that perfectly well, sir,” said Barber.
“I’m sorry, I’m not following you.”
“Are you telling me you were unaware of any reason for Gordon Clark to be jealous of David Lyall?”
And there it was, the trap door in the floor, held politely open for him to step into. He saw Margaret Clark’s face in the lamplight, looking up at him, her lips slightly open. He thought of Barber’s threat if he did not co-operate. He made his decision. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“I see,” said Barber, and let the silence gather. “I have to say I’m a little disappointed in you, Dr. Forrester.”
Forrester said nothing. He had played his cards and he would accept the consequences.
Barber moved in for the kill. “You’re not going to tell me you’re unaware of the Rotherfield Lectureship?”
Forrester’s mouth fell open. The Rotherfield Lectureship?
“Yes, I know about it, of course. But what does that have to do with—”
Barber stabbed the air with his forefinger.
“Are you saying you were unaware of the fact that although Dr. Clark believed himself best qualified to get it, the recommendation was that it should be awarded to Dr.
Similar Books
