“As I was going away from the museum door, I met Mr Foss’s man, Marden. He had a small brown-paper parcel in his hand. He stopped me and asked me if I knew where Mr Foss was. Something about the parcel, I gathered, though I didn’t stop to listen to him. I told him Mr Foss was in the museum; and I went on to see if I could find who was calling. I searched about and came across Mr Clifton; but I didn’t hear anyone calling my name. Mr Foss must have been mistaken.”
“And then?”
Michael Clifton evidently thought it unnecessary that Joan should bear the whole burden of giving evidence. At this point he broke in.
“Miss Chacewater and I were together in the winter-garden when I heard a shout of ‘Murder!’ I didn’t recognize the voice at the time. I left Miss Chacewater where she was and made my way as quick as I could towards the voice. It came from the museum, so I hurried there. I found Foss on the floor with a dagger of some sort in his chest. He was gone, so far as I could see, before I came on the scene at all. The man Marden was in the room, tying up his hand. It was bleeding badly and he said he’d cut it on the glass of a case. I kept him under my eye till I could get a couple of keepers; and then I rang you up at the station.”
“What had become of Mr Chacewater?” Sir Clinton asked, without showing that he attached more than a casual interest to the question.
“That’s the puzzle,” Michael admitted. “I didn’t see him anywhere in the museum at the moment and I’ve been hunting for him everywhere since then: but he’s not turned up. He may have gone out into the grounds, of course, and left Foss alone in the museum; and possibly he had got out of earshot before the cry of ‘Murder!’ was raised by the valet. I don’t know.”
Sir Clinton saw that the Inspector wished to ask a question, but he silenced him by a glance.
“One more point, and we’re done, I think,” he said, turning to Joan. “Can you give me a rough idea of the time when the cry of ‘Murder!’ was raised? I mean, how long was it after you had left the museum yourself?”
Joan thought for a few seconds.
“It took me three or four minutes before I came across Mr Clifton, and we were together—how long would you say, Michael?—before we heard the shout?”
“Not more than five minutes,” Michael suggested.
“That’s about it,” Joan confirmed. “That would make it about eight or nine minutes, roughly, between the time I left the museum and the time we heard the shout.”
“About that,” Michael agreed.
Sir Clinton rose and closed his notebook.
“That’s all you have to tell us? Everything that bears on the matter, so far as you know?”
Joan paused for a moment or two before replying.
“That’s all that I can remember,” she said at last, after an evident effort to recall any fresh details. “I can’t think of anything else that would be of use.”
“You’ve no idea where your brother is?”
“None at all,” Joan answered. Then a thought seemed to strike her. “You don’t think Maurice had anything to do with this?” she demanded, anxiously.
“He’ll turn up shortly to speak for himself, I’ve no doubt,” Sir Clinton said, as though to reassure her. “Now that’s all we need just now, so far as you’re concerned. I’m going to take Mr Clifton away for a few minutes, but he’ll be back again almost immediately.”
With a reassuring smile, the Chief Constable excused himself and led the way to the door, followed by Michael and the Inspector. As soon as he was out of the room, he turned to Michael.
“You’re quite sure that Mr Chacewater wasn’t in the museum when you reached it?”
Michael considered carefully before replying.
“I don’t see how he could have been. I glanced into all the bays; and you know there isn’t cover enough for a cat in the place.”
“Was the safe door open or shut, did you notice?”
Michael again reflected before replying.
“Shut, I’m almost certain.”
Sir Clinton in his turn seemed to reflect for a moment or two.
“We’ll have a look at this fellow Marden, now, I think, Inspector, if you’ll bring him along to the museum. We’d better hear his tale on the spot. It’ll save explanations about the positions of things.”
Inspector Armadale departed on his quest while Michael and the Chief Constable made their way to the scene of the crime. Suddenly Sir Clinton turned and confronted Michael.
“Have you any notion whatever as to where Maurice has gone? I want the truth.”
Michael was manifestly taken aback by the direct demand.
“I haven’t a notion,” he declared. “He wasn’t in the museum when I got there, so far as I know. You can put me on my oath over that, if you like.”
The Chief Constable scanned his face keenly, but made no comment on his statement. He led the way to the museum; and they had hardly passed through the door before Inspector Armadale returned with the valet.
