The Inspector nodded and stepped across to inspect the register.
‘James Pearson, London,’ said the Inspector. ‘Well—that doesn’t tell us much. We’ll have to make a few inquiries about Mr James Pearson.’
Then he strode off to the coffee-room in search of Major Burnaby.
The Major was the only occupant of the room. He was drinking some rather muddy-looking coffee and The Times was propped up in front of him.
‘Major Burnaby?’
‘That’s my name.’
‘I am Inspector Narracott from Exeter.’
‘Good morning, Inspector. Any forrarder?’
‘Yes, sir. I think we are a little forrarder. I think I can safely say that.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said the Major drily. His attitude was one of resigned disbelief.
‘Now there are just one or two points I would like some information on, Major Burnaby,’ said the Inspector, ‘and I think you can probably tell me what I want to know.’
‘Do what I can,’ said Burnaby.
‘Had Captain Trevelyan any enemies to your knowledge?’
‘Not an enemy in the world.’ Burnaby was decisive.
‘This man, Evans—do you yourself consider him trustworthy?’
‘Should think so. Trevelyan trusted him, I know.’
‘There was no ill feeling about this marriage of his?’
‘Not ill feeling, no. Trevelyan was annoyed—didn’t like his habits upset. Old bachelor, you know.’
‘Talking of bachelors, that’s another point. Captain Trevelyan was unmarried—do you know if he made a will? And in the event of there being no will, have you any idea who would inherit his estate?’
‘Trevelyan made a will,’ said Burnaby promptly.
‘Ah—you know that.’
‘Yes. Made me executor. Told me so.’
‘Do you know how he left his money?’
‘That I can’t say.’
‘I understand he was very comfortably off?’
‘Trevelyan was a rich man,’ replied Burnaby. ‘I should say he was much better off than anyone around here suspected.’
‘What relations had he—do you know?’
‘He’d a sister and some nephews and nieces, I believe. Never saw much of any of them, but there was no quarrel.’
‘About this will, do you know where he kept it?’
‘It’s at Walters & Kirkwood—the solicitors here in Exhampton. They drew it up for him.’
‘Then perhaps, Major Burnaby, as you are executor, I wonder if you would come round to Walters & Kirkwood with me now. I should like to have an idea of the contents of that will as soon as possible.’
Burnaby looked up alertly.
‘What’s in the wind?’ he said. ‘What’s the will got to do with it?’
Inspector Narracott was not disposed to show his hand too soon.
‘The case isn’t such plain sailing as we thought,’ he said. ‘By the way, there’s another question I want to ask you. I understand, Major Burnaby, that you asked Dr Warren whether death had occurred at five and twenty minutes past five?’
‘Well,’ said the Major gruffly.
‘What made you select that exact time, Major?’
‘Why shouldn’t I?’ said Burnaby.
‘Well—something must have put it into your head.’
There was quite a pause before Major Burnaby replied. Inspector Narracott’s interest was aroused. The Major had something he quite patently wished to conceal. To watch him doing so was almost ludicrous.
‘Why shouldn’t I say twenty-five past five?’ he demanded truculently, ‘or twenty-five to six—or twenty past four, for that matter?’
‘Quite so, sir,’ said Inspector Narracott soothingly.
He did not wish to antagonize the Major just at this moment. He promised himself that he would get to the bottom of the matter before the day was out.
‘There’s one thing that strikes me as curious, sir,’ he went on.
‘Yes?’
‘This business of the letting of Sittaford House. I don’t know what you think about it, but it seems to me a curious thing to have happened.’
‘If you ask me,’ said Burnaby, ‘it’s damned odd.’
‘That’s your opinion?’
‘It’s everyone’s opinion.’
‘In Sittaford?’
‘In Sittaford and Exhampton too. The woman must be mad.’
‘Well, I suppose there’s no accounting for tastes,’ said the Inspector.
‘Damned odd taste for a woman of that kind.’
‘You know the lady?’
‘I know her. Why, I was at her house when—’
‘When what?’ asked Narracott as the Major came to an abrupt halt.
‘Nothing,’ said Burnaby.
Inspector Narracott looked at him keenly. There was something here he would have liked to get at. The Major’s obvious confusion and embarrassment did not escape him. He had been on the point of saying—what?
‘All in good time,’ said Narracott to himself. ‘Now isn’t the moment to rub him up the wrong way.’
Aloud he said innocently:
‘You were at Sittaford House, you say, sir. The lady has been there now—about how long?’
‘A couple of months.’
The Major was eager to escape the result of his imprudent words. It made him more loquacious than usual.
‘A widow lady with her daughter?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Does she give any reason for her choice of residence?’
‘Well—’ the Major rubbed his nose dubiously. ‘She talks a lot, she’s that kind of woman—beauties of nature—out of the world—that sort of thing. But—’
He paused rather helplessly. Inspector Narracott came to his rescue.
‘It didn’t strike you as natural on her part?’
‘Well, it’s like this. She’s a fashionable sort of woman. Dressed up to the nines—daughter’s a smart, pretty girl. Natural thing would be for them to be staying at the Ritz or Claridge’s, or some other big hotel somewhere. You know the sort.’
Narracott nodded.
‘They don’t keep themselves to themselves, do they?’ he asked. ‘You don’t think they are—well—hiding?’
Major Burnaby shook his head positively.
‘Oh! no, nothing of that kind. They’re very sociable—a bit too sociable. I mean, in a little place like Sittaford, you can’t have previous engagements, and when invitations are showered on you it’s a bit awkward. They’re exceedingly kind, hospitable people, but a bit too hospitable for English ideas.’
‘The