Free Mystery of Mr. Jessop by E.R. Punshon Page A

help. Now, may I ask you a straight question? Have you told me all you know?”
    â€œI think so, yes.”
    â€œAll you suspect?”
    The question evidently took her unawares. Again she hesitated, though for so short a time it would have been perceptible only to someone, like Bobby, on the watch.
    â€œYes, of course, certainly,” she said then. “Besides, I don’t suspect anything”; and the thought came into Bobby’s mind that she lied with difficulty.
    But he felt it was no good pressing her further now. 
    Further and closer questioning would be for his superiors if they thought it advisable. Besides, time for reflection might make her inclined to be more open – and more time, too, might provide surer ground on which to base a further interrogation.
    They were still standing facing each other, and it was easy to see that she was lost in deep and troubled thought. Quite suddenly her feet began to move; she lifted her arms slightly; there came again upon her that strange grace and lightness of bearing she had shown before, as if somehow she lifted herself from the solid ground into the air. Bobby thought for a moment that she was going to begin dancing once more, and possibly it was the involuntary astonishment in his eyes that made her remember and stop.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” she said. “Ever since I was a child somehow I have always danced my thoughts.”
    â€œDo you dance in public?” he asked.
    The question seemed to surprise her.
    â€œDo you pray in public?” she countered.
    A little disconcerted, he did not answer. He understood vaguely that for her the dance was the way whereby she could put herself in unison with that Real which lies behind all Appearance, as is for others prayer, or contemplation, or even action – or sometimes, for a time, drink or drugs. She began to move towards the door.
    â€œDenis will be wondering what’s up. He’ll be doing something violent soon if we aren’t careful,” she said. “That is, if he’s still there, poor lamb.”
    She opened the door admitting into the tiny vestibule and then the outer door. Over her shoulder Bobby saw that Denis Chenery was still there, leaning against the corridor wall opposite, his arms folded and with a very grim and resolute expression that suggested he was holding himself in a restraint that might not last too long.
    â€œDenis,” she said to him, “Mr. Jessop has been murdered.”
    â€œI thought there was something like that,” he observed coolly.
    â€œYou can tell him all about it,” she said to Bobby, who had followed her. “Good night, Denis.”
    She went back into the flat, and Bobby had a vision of her making again in solitude the dance her vehicle of thought and contemplation. Denis said to Bobby:
    â€œKnow who did it?”
    â€œWe have certain information,” Bobby answered cautiously. “You knew Mr. Jessop?”
    â€œI’ve only seen the blighter once. Quite enough, too.”
    â€œYou didn’t like him?”
    â€œI didn’t like the job he gave Miss May. Might have landed her in a hell of a hole. She might have got murdered herself. I didn’t think he was straight.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI just didn’t think so, that’s all. Too fond of keeping things to himself. I knew he had been showing stuff to the Duchess of Westhaven on the q.t. – trying to lead her on. Hilda didn’t know that, but I did. If he’s got himself done in, as likely as not it was because he was up to something.” Bobby thought that quite probable. But something else Denis had said interested him more.
    â€œDo you know what it was he had been showing the duchess?” he asked.
    â€œOh, that swagger necklace of theirs; thought he could let her in for buying it. Of course, she hadn’t the coin, and the duke wasn’t likely to spring it.”
    â€œHow was it you