The Ways of the World by Robert Goddard Page A

of the panes. A piece of wood had been nailed beneath the remnants of the pane to keep the weather out. It was obvious no policeman’s boot was responsible for the damage, however. The fragments of glass on the roof proved the skylight had been broken from inside, not outside. It was puzzling – very puzzling.
    He peered down through the undamaged pane into a cramped roof space. The boarded floor he could see below was thick with dust, pierced in places by assorted footprints. The footprints themselves were entirely free of dust. They had clearly been made recently – probably no longer ago than Friday.
    A fatal accident in the circumstances envisaged by Commissioner Zamaron was plausible, he could not deny. But there were enough oddities and inconsistencies to suggest that something else might have happened, though what that might be he could not yet imagine. He needed to learn more. And he would, whatever Ashley said.
    He slithered back down to the attic window and cast another glance towards Spataro’s studio. There was still no movement there. It struck Max that if anyone had seen what happened to Sir Henry, it could only be Spataro. He would have had a perfect view – if he had been looking.
    ‘Seen enough, Mr Maxted?’ Appleby called.
    ‘Quite enough, thank you.’ Max clambered back in through the window and brushed himself down.
    ‘Satisfied?’ Ashley asked sharply, frowning at him ominously.
    ‘I believe I am, yes.’
    ‘Then perhaps we should be going.’
    They left the attic, Appleby locking up carefully behind them, and headed for the lift. As they reached it, Ashley said suddenly, ‘No sense our cramming in there again like sardines. You go ahead, gentlemen. My brother and I will walk down.’
    Ashley brushed aside Fradgley’s offer to give up his place in the lift. Appleby made no such offer. The expression on his face suggested he knew, as did Max, that Ashley had decided a quiet word between brothers was now in order.
    The lift groaned and clanked arthritically down its wire shaft as Ashley and Max began a slow descent of the stairs. Max lit a cigarette and waited for Ashley to declare his position. He did not have to wait long.
    ‘I was afraid it would be something like this, you know. Falling to his death while spying on some tart he’d become besotted with. I mean to say, it’s pathetic.’
    ‘You seem to be assuming it’s true.’
    ‘Of course it’s true. How else do you explain a man of Pa’s age prancing around on a roof in the middle of the night?’
    ‘I don’t. Yet. But perhaps we should speak to Madame Dombreux before we make our minds up.’
    ‘Absolutely not. Give her the slightest encouragement and she’ll be trying to blackmail us.’
    ‘With what?’
    ‘I don’t know.
Billets doux
Pa was stupid enough to send her, perhaps.’
    ‘But—’
    ‘Listen to me very carefully, James. I don’t want any word of this – any breath – to reach Mother.’
    ‘Neither do I, if Zamaron’s version of events is correct.’
    ‘It’s obviously correct. Fortunately, no one has any interest in bringing those events to public attention. Appleby and Fradgley are trying to avoid embarrassing our delegation here. And it sounds as if this fellow Zamaron has been told to help them do that. So, we must do everything we can to cooperate with them. Don’t ask any challenging questions. And don’t look down your nose in that way you have that implies you don’t believe a single thing you’re being told.’
    ‘Look down my nose? I never—’
    ‘If you want to make yourself useful, think of something we can tell Mother that will go some way towards accounting for what happened to Pa without mentioning this Dombreux woman.’
    ‘I’ll do my best.’
    ‘You’d better. Pa’s left us a truly horrible mess to clear up. It can be done. But only if we stick together. I need your support, James. Your loyalty to our family.’ Ashley looked round athim as he traversed the next landing.