Ask a Policeman. Агата Кристи

into the waiting-room was open. Sir Charles, who appeared to be very much embarrassed, explained to me that he had entered the office to tell me that he could wait no longer. As he did so, he had stepped on a mat which had slipped beneath him on the polished floor. To save himself from falling he had clutched at a table which stood just inside the door, and on which was a wooden tray containing papers. This, however, had failed to save him, and he had fallen, dragging the table and tray down with him.”

      “Would this have accounted for the crash you heard?” inquired the Commissioner.

      “It might have done so. In fact, it seemed to me at the time a likely explanation of the crash.”

      “You said just now that Sir Charles was wearing gloves when he entered the house. Was he still doing so?”

      “Yes, he was. I noticed that as I dusted him down after his fall. A minute or two later, I escorted him through the hall to the front door, and immediately hurried back to the drawing-room.”

      “Littleton’s turn had come, certainly,” remarked Sir Philip.

      “That is what I thought, sir. My idea was to make one more effort to induce him to go away without seeing Lord Comstock, and if I failed, to introduce him. I walked into the drawing-room, to find it empty.”

      “Upon my word, your visitors seem to have wandered about the house as if it was their own!” exclaimed Sir Philip. “There was no doubt this time that the room was really empty, I suppose? Littleton wasn’t hiding under the sofa? You can never tell what a policeman may do, you know.”

      “The room was certainly empty, sir, and the concealed door into the study was shut. I could only conclude that Mr. Littleton had passed through it into the study. He had certainly not left the house, for his car was still in the drive when I saw Sir Charles off at the front door.”

      “Where was Littleton’s car standing?” asked Sir Philip, glancing at the plan.

      “A few yards south of the front door, sir. Almost immediately in front of the dining-room window. I went to the east window of the drawing-room, and looked out to see if the car was still there, and found that it was. A plot of grass, with a clump of tall beeches growing in it, hides the farther sweep of the drive from the windows of the house, sir. As I looked out I saw a big saloon car come out from behind it, and head for the gate. I recognized the driver as Sir Charles Hope-Fairweather, by the colour of his coat.

      “A moment later, sir, I saw Mr. Littleton. He appeared round the north-east corner of the house, running as hard as he could across the lawn towards the front door. He jumped into his car, swung round the trees, and set off towards the gate at a reckless speed.”

      “But this is most extraordinary, Mr. Mills. Where did you imagine that Littleton had come from?”

      It seemed that Mills had prepared an answer to this question. At all events, his reply was ready enough. “I imagined that he must have left the house by the front door, and gone round on to the lawn, while I was helping Sir Charles to brush his clothes, sir. As soon as I had lost sight of Mr. Littleton’s car, I went back to my office.”

      “You did not go into the study?” asked the Commissioner quickly.

      “There was no reason to do so. Sir Charles and Mr. Littleton had gone, and I had no desire to disturb Lord Comstock unnecessarily. I certainly expected him to ring for me and inquire what Mr. Littleton had been doing on the lawn, since I thought he must infallibly have seen him. But, since he did not do so, I resumed my work.”

      “Which had suffered considerable interruption,” Sir Philip remarked. “What time was it by then?”

      “I glanced at the clock as I sat down, sir. It was then twenty-two minutes past twelve. I did not move from my chair again until about five minutes past one, when Farrant flung open the doors leaning into the study, and shouted to me to come in.”

      “Ah, yes, the butler,” said Sir Philip thoughtfully. “Have you got him outside, Hampton? If so, he had better come in.”

      The Commissioner went to the Private Secretary’s room and came out followed by an elderly man with a melancholy, almost morose, expression. It struck Sir Philip that Comstock had not been very fortunate in his choice of subordinates. Mills, in spite of his apparent candour, had not impressed him. There was a shifty look in his eyes that the Home Secretary did not quite like. And as for Farrant—well, there was nothing against him yet. But then, from all accounts, no self-respecting person would remain in Comstock’s household any longer than he could help. Sir Philip caught the Commissioner’s eye, and nodded slightly.

      “Now, Farrant,” said the latter briskly, “I understand that you were the first to discover Lord Comstock’s death. How did this come about?”

      “Punctually at one o’clock, sir, I came to inform his Lordship that lunch was on the table. I opened the study door, sir—”

      “How did you reach the study, Farrant?” the Commissioner interrupted.

      “I entered the hall by the service door from the kitchen, under the stairs, sir. The door of the study is nearly opposite. I opened this door, sir, and the first thing I saw was his Lordship lying on the floor by the window, with his chair half on top of him, sir. I ran up to him, thinking he had fallen over in a fit or something, sir. And then as soon as I looked at him and saw his head, I knew that he had been shot dead. And then I ran to the waiting-room and called Mr. Mills.”

      “You knew that he had been shot dead, did you? And how did you know that?”

      The sharp question seemed to confuse Farrant. “Why, sir, there was the wound, and the blood round it. And his Lordship was lying in a way he wouldn’t have been if he hadn’t been dead.”

      “Yes, dead with a wound in his head, Farrant. But why shot dead?”

      Farrant’s eyes strayed to the pistol, in full view on the Home Secretary’s desk. “I knew there was a pistol in the room, sir,” he replied confidently.

      “Oh, you knew that, did you? When did you first see it there?”

      Farrant glanced towards the chair in which Mills was sitting. “I saw it there yesterday evening, sir. I took the opportunity of tidying up the study then, since his Lordship had gone out to dinner.”

      The Commissioner turned his attention to Mills. “Do you know where Lord Comstock dined last night?” he asked.

      “I don’t. Certainly not at Hursley Lodge. He went out with the chauffeur in the car about seven, and did not come back till midnight. He was not in the habit of informing me of his movements unless for some definite purpose.”

      “You appear to have examined Lord Comstock’s body fairly closely, Farrant?”

      “I bent down to pick him up, sir, before I realized that he was dead.”

      “Did you disturb it at all?”

      “I moved the chair a bit to one side, sir, and I may have shifted the body slightly, but not so that one would notice it. And I dare say I pushed in the drawer an inch or two, so that I could get round to His Lordship.”

      “What drawer was this, Farrant?”

      “One of the drawers of the desk, sir, that was pulled nearly right out.”

      The Commissioner looked at Easton. “You said nothing of this drawer being open in your report, Superintendent,” he said accusingly.

      “When I entered the room, sir, all the drawers in the desk were shut, sir,” replied Easton positively.

      “Well, having disturbed everything, you thought it time to call Mr. Mills,” continued the Commissioner. “Are you quite sure that you touched nothing else first?”

      “Perfectly sure, sir,” Farrant replied.

      “Was the drawer that Farrant mentions open when you came on the scene, Mr. Mills?”

      “I did not notice