You couldn’t always tell if they were happy.
‘Quite true,’ said Mr Barley when the girl had gone. ‘That poetical, artistic type always looks to me in despair, but I believe that is only a pose.’
Fisher had been given a list of the guests, and now looked at it. He asked to see Mr Head first, and Mr Head came, with a countenance of protest, and an opening statement that he knew nothing about it. Fisher told him to sit down, and put a few questions quickly. Mr Head’s only contribution to the evidence was the remark that Mrs Tollard might not have been well. The last time she had played bridge she had seemed very distrait. He went, and Mrs Head came in. She had much the same kind of inconsequence to deliver, and was soon dismissed.
‘I think they will be of no further use to us,’ said the superintendent, privately wishing he hadn’t to waste his time on these bridge bores. ‘You may tell them so, sir. Now what about Mrs Minever?’
Barley went for his elderly relation, hoping she would not put some silly interpretation on the event. Fortunately, he found her rather frightened by the prospect of examination, and determined to say as little as possible.
‘I really don’t know anything about any of them,’ she said decidedly. ‘They are Mr Barley’s guests. I know Mrs Tollard said she had a bad headache, and didn’t come down.’
She left, and Fisher consulted the roll again. ‘Here’s a gentleman, Mr Ortho—is that right?’
‘Yes, Ortho Haine.’
‘He seems to have been the only other man on that side. We had better have him in.’
Mr Barley went out, and Fisher scribbled rapidly. Haine came in, looking white and upset, but apparently determined to help the investigation in any way he could. It was quite true that he had developed a youthful but quite harmless passion for the dead woman, and was inclined to regard her as a sort of modern martyr to matrimony, but he was sensible enough not to enlarge too much on things that might be misconstrued.
‘I heard nothing in the night, or early this morning,’ he said, in reply to a question. ‘But I am a very sound sleeper, and I was tired last night when I went to bed.’
‘Did you not even hear Miss Gurdon or Mr Barley go into the room?’
‘No. As a rule I do not wake until my tea is brought up. But there was none brought up this morning. I slept on until late. I did not hear Mrs Tollard was dead until this—until Mr Barley told us after breakfast.’
‘Do you know Mrs Tollard well?’
‘I have not met her very many times.’
‘Did she impress you as a happy woman?’
Haine glanced at Mr Barley, and frowned. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke. ‘I don’t think she did. I may be mistaken. I should say on the whole that she—’
‘Just a moment, sir,’ said Fisher grimly. ‘Could you say definitely that she was unhappy, or had any reason to be so?’
The word ‘definitely’ staggered Ortho. He was a conscientious fellow, and there was a world of difference between thinking that Mrs Tollard did not care for her husband’s association with Miss Gurdon, and declaring in so many words that she was unhappy as the result of it.
‘No, I couldn’t say so definitely,’ he remarked.
‘Very well. Speculations are not much good to us, sir,’ said the superintendent. ‘Can you tell me if any of the ladies in the house were friends of the late Mrs Tollard?’
‘They all knew her,’ was the reply. ‘Perhaps Mrs Gailey was most in sympathy with her.’
‘And Miss Sayers?’ asked Fisher, looking at his list.
‘They aren’t the same type,’ said Ortho, who was young enough to divide humanity into types.
‘Then I think I shall see Mrs Gailey next,’ said Fisher. ‘If you don’t mind, Mr Barley, I shall question this witness privately.’
Barley started. ‘I hope I have not been in your way?’
‘Not at all,’ said Fisher dryly. ‘But please ask Mrs Gailey to come in. I have done with Mr Haine.’
Ortho bolted, much relieved, but Mr Barley was thoughtful and anxious as he went in search of Netta Gailey. Was it possible that the superintendent suspected something? It was odd his asking to see Mrs Gailey alone. If that young ass Haine had only held his tongue this ridiculous nonsense about Margery Tollard’s unhappiness need never have come up.
‘The police will be sure to make a mountain of this molehill!’ he said to himself plaintively.
IT was certainly unfortunate that Ortho Haine had said even as much as he did. Superintendent Fisher had expected to hear that the dead lady had been a happy woman, but the earlier witnesses had not thought of saying so, and Haine had almost given him the impression that Mrs Tollard was unhappy in her married life.
‘There’s one thing certain,’ said Fisher, as he sat waiting for Mrs Gailey. ‘Mr Tollard left yesterday, so was not in the house last night. Mrs Tollard was most probably shot from outside. If that little fluff of silk-cotton had been detached in firing, as Miss Gurdon suggested, it ought to have been found. That is, if the criminal was indoors at the time. It might be possible, though, for someone to fire the dart through the keyhole of the communicating door. I must look into that. Come in!’
The last words he spoke aloud, and Netta Gailey entered shyly.
‘You are Mrs Gailey?’ asked Fisher. ‘Good! Will you please sit down?’
She sat down, and began to fidget. He added in a reassuring tone: ‘The questions I am going to put to you need not alarm you, Mrs Gailey.’
She nodded nervously. ‘I don’t know much, I’m afraid.’
‘I gathered as much from Mr Barley. But I want to hear a little about the poor lady. I expect we shall find she was happy enough when alive, but some of the guests here have given me the impression that she was rather melancholy. Now, as another woman, and one more or less in sympathy with her, can you tell me your opinion?’
Mrs Gailey had come determined to say nothing. But the superintendent seemed so mild, and so casual about it, that she was not so careful as she had intended to be.
‘Well, you see, she wasn’t a sporty type. She liked books and pictures and things, while Mr Tollard was fond of sports.’
Fisher nodded indifferently. ‘We mustn’t let that influence us too much. Dozens of husbands and wives manage to rub along very nicely, even when they don’t think alike.’
‘Oh, of course,’ she replied, more brightly. ‘I don’t say for a minute that Ned Tollard made her unhappy.’
‘I
