Free Death of a Ghost by Margery Allingham Page B

sort of person. I’m getting a list of the guests from him. We shall take a statement from each of them, and you never know, something may turn up. But I’m afraid there’s no doubt about it this time. The girl had the motive and she had the opportunity. I know that’s not conclusive, but it’s nine points out of the ten. Will you go to the old lady, Campion, while I see Rennie? Oh, by the way, you didn’t see anything, did you? I haven’t had a statement from you. Where were you when it happened?’
    â€˜In the passage, putting a shilling in the meter.’
    â€˜Of course!’ said the Inspector bitterly. ‘Probably the one trained observer in the party out of the room at the psychological moment.’
    He walked over to the door with Campion.
    â€˜You see, that meter is another thing,’ he said. ‘No one could have arranged for that light to go out just then. It all points to an impulsive, insane gesture that happened to come off. You work on the line of insanity; you’ll find it there somewhere.’
    â€˜If you detain that girl you’ll never prove anything against her,’ said Campion, his hand on the door-knob.
    â€˜That’s the trouble,’ said the Inspector. ‘Then we shan’t be able to lay our hands on her, but the whole world will know she’s guilty.’
    â€˜That’s what I’m afraid of,’ said Mr Campion, and went out.

CHAPTER 6
The Gesture
    â€“
    M R C AMPION went slowly upstairs to the drawing-room reflecting that the situation was impossible. He dreaded the meeting with the family. Belle, he knew, looked to him for comfort, and in the circumstances he had very little to offer her.
    The cold air of calamity had permeated the whole household. The very atmosphere of the hall was chill and yet curiously stuffy.
    They would have to be warned of the Inspector’s intention – he realized that – and there was the question of insanity too. The longer he considered his task the less he was attracted by it.
    He pushed open the door of the drawing-room and went in.
    They were all there save Linda and Rosa-Rosa. Belle sat in her usual chair by the fire just as she had done on the evening before when she had been chatting so happily to Campion. She was very grave now, but there was no sign of weakness on her face. Her hands were folded in her lap and she stared down into the fire, her mouth screwed into a small grimace of pity.
    Lisa was crying softly, huddled up on a low chair by Belle’s side. At least it seemed that she was crying, for she dabbed her little black eyes with a big white handkerchief from time to time.
    On the opposite side of the hearth, Donna Beatrice, the only one of the party who had changed her dress, sat swathed in black georgette, a silver châtelaine hanging from her girdle and a great silver cross round her neck.
    Max strode up and down the room impatiently. Like Donna Beatrice he had been quick to see the dramatic possibilities the affair, and whereas he did not actually ‘make copy’ out of them, he obviously got a modicum of satisfaction out of the drama. At worst it seemed to mean that something else was happening on the little stage which he made his life. The vital question whether the scandal would affect Lafcadio’s reputation advantageously or adversely confronted him also.
    He glanced at Campion carelessly as the young man came in and made him a helpless gesture. If he had said, ‘It’s too terribly trying, isn’t it? But emergencies do occur,’ he could not have conveyed his thought more clearly.
    Donna Beatrice’s greeting was more sensational and Campion remembered with sudden satisfaction that her real name was Harriet Pickering. She rose from her chair.
    â€˜Your aura,’ she said. ‘Your aura … You looked like a flame coming into the room, a vigorous cosmic flame.’
    Lisa made some muttered protest in her own