‘Oh, yes. They won’t have him in the army. He’s got something wrong with his eyes, and anyway he’s ranked as doing an essential job on the place. The police got the whole story out of Markins, of course,’ said Fabian, ‘and for want of a better suspect, concentrated on the boy. I expect he looms large in the files, doesn’t he?’
‘He peters out about halfway through.’
‘That’s because he’s the only member of the household who’s got a sort of alibi. We all heard him playing the piano until just before the diamond clip was found, which was at five to nine. When he’d just started, at eight o’clock it was, Markins saw him in the annexe, playing, and he never stopped for longer than half a minute or less. Incidentally, to the best of my belief, that’s the last time young Cliff played on the piano in the annexe, or on any other piano, for a matter of that. His mother, who was worried about him, went over to the annexe and persuaded him to return with her to the cottage. There he heard the nine o’clock news bulletin and listened to a programme of classical music.
‘You may think that was a bit thick,’ said Fabian. ‘I mean a bit too much in character with the sensitive young plant, but it’s what he did. The previous night you must remember he’d had a snorting row with Flossie, and followed it up with a sixteen-mile hike and no sleep. He was physically and emotionally exhausted and dropped off to sleep in his chair. His mother got him to bed and she and his father sat up until after midnight, talking about him. Before she turned in, Mrs Johns looked at young Cliff and found him fathoms deep. Even the detective-sergeant saw that Flossie would have returned by midnight if she’d been alive. Sorry, Ursy dear, I interrupt continually. We are back on the lawn. Cliff is playing Bach on a piano that misses on six notes and Flossie’s talking about the party in the shearing-shed. Carry on.’
Ursula and Florence had steered Arthur Rubrick away from Cliff though the piano in the annexe continued to remind them of him. Flossie began to plan her speech on post-war land settlement for soldiers. ‘There’ll be no blunders this time,’ she declared. ‘The bill we’re planning will see to that. A committee of experts.’ The phrases drifted out over the darkling garden. ‘Good country, properly stocked … adequate equipment … Soldiers Rehabilitation Fund … I shall speak for twenty minutes before supper …’ But from what part of the wool-shed should she speak? Why not from the press itself? There would be a touch of symbolism in that, Flossie cried, taking fire. It would be from the press itself with an improvised platform across the top. She would be a dominant figure there. Perhaps some extra lighting? ‘We must go and look!’ she cried, jumping to her feet. That had always been her way with everything. No sooner said than done. She had tremendous driving power and enthusiasm. ‘I’m going to try my voice there – now. Give me my coat, Douglas darling.’ Douglas helped her into the diaphanous coat.
It was then that he discovered the loss of the diamond clip.
It had been a silver wedding present from Arthur, one of a pair. Its mate still twinkled on the left lapel of the coat. Flossie announced simply that it must be found, and Douglas organized the search party. ‘You’ll see it quite easily,’ she told them, ‘by the glitter. I shall walk slowly to the shearing-shed, looking as I go. I want to try my voice. Please don’t interrupt me, any of you. I shan’t get another chance and I must be in bed before ten. An early start in the morning. Look carefully and mind you don’t tread on it. Off you go.’
To Ursula’s lot had fallen a long path running down the right-hand side of the tennis lawn between hedges of clipped poplars, dense with summer foliage. This path divided the tennis lawn from a farther lawn which extended from the front along the south side of the house. This also was bordered by a hedged walk where Terence Lynne hunted, and, beyond her again, lay the kitchen gardens, allotted to Fabian. To the left of the tennis lawn Douglas Grace moved parallel with Ursula. Beyond him, Arthur Rubrick explored a lavender path that led off at right angles through a flower garden to a farther fence, beyond which lay a cart track leading to the manager’s hut, the bunkhouses and the shearing-shed.
‘No gossiping, now,’ said Flossie. ‘Be thorough.’
She turned down the lavender path, moving slowly. Ursula watched her go. The hills beyond her had now darkened to a purple that was almost black and, by the blotting out of nearer forms, Flossie seemed to walk directly into these hills until, reaching the end of the path, she turned to the left and suddenly vanished.
Ursula walked round the top of the tennis court, past the front of the house, to her allotted beat between the two lawns. The path was flanked by scrubby borders of parched annuals amongst which she hunted assiduously. Cliff Johns now played noisily but she was farther away and only heard disjointed passages, strident and angry. She thought it was a Polonaise. TUM, te-tum. Te-tum-te-tum-te TUM, te-tum. Tiddlytumtum. She didn’t know how he could proclaim himself like that after what had happened. Across the lawn, on her right, Fabian, making for the kitchen garden, whistled sweetly. Between them Terence Lynne hunted along the companion path to Ursula’s. The poplar fences completely hid them from each other but every now and then they would call out: ‘Any luck?’ ‘Not so far.’ It was now almost dark. Ursula had worked her way to the bottom of her beat and turned into the connecting path that ran right along the lower end of the garden. Here she found Terence Lynne. ‘It’s no good looking along here,’ Terence had said. ‘We didn’t come here with Mrs Rubrick. We crossed the lawn to the kitchen garden.’ But Ursula reminded her that earlier in the evening while Douglas and Fabian played an after-dinner singles, the girls had come this way with Florence. ‘But I’m sure she had the clip then,’ Terence objected. ‘We should have noticed if one was missing. And in any case, I’ve looked along here. We’d better not be together. You know what she said.’ They argued in a desultory way and then Ursula returned to her beat. She saw a light flash beyond the fence on the right side of the tennis lawn and heard Douglas call out, ‘Here’s a torch, Uncle Arthur.’ It was not long after this that Arthur Rubrick found the clip in a clump of zinnias along the lavender walk.
‘He said the beam from the torch caught it and it sent out sparks of blue light. They shouted, “Got it. We’ve found it!” and we all met on the tennis lawn. I ran out to a place on the drive where you can see the shearing-shed but there was no light there so we all went indoors.’ As they did this the music in the annexe stopped abruptly.
They had trailed rather wearily into the dining-room just as the nine o’clock bulletin was beginning on the radio. Fabian had turned it off. Arthur Rubrick had sat at the table, breathing short, his face more congested than usual. Terence Lynne, without consulting him, poured out a stiff nip of whisky. This instantly reminded Ursula of Cliff’s performance on the previous night. Arthur thanked Terence in his breathless voice and pushed the diamond clip across the table to Ursula.
‘I’ll just run up with it. Auntie Floss will like to know it’s found.’
It struck her that the house was extraordinarily quiet. This impression deepened as she climbed the stairs. She stood for a moment on the top landing, listening. As in all moments of quietude, undercurrents of sound, generally unheard, became disconcertingly audible. The day had been hot and the old wooden house relaxed with stealthy sighs or sudden cracks. Flossie’s room was opposite the stairhead. Ursula, stock-still on the landing, listened intently for any movement in the room. There was none. She moved nearer to the door and stooping down could just see the printed legend. Flossie was adamant about obedience to this notice, but Ursula paused while the inane couplet which she couldn’t read jigged through her memory:
Please don’t knock upon my door,
The only answer is a snore.
Auntie Flossie, she confessed, was a formidable snorer. Indeed it was mainly on this score that Uncle Arthur, an uneasy sleeper, had removed to an adjoining room. But on this night no energetic counterpoint of intake and expulsion sounded from behind the closed door. Ursula waited in vain and a small trickle of apprehension dropped down her spine. She stole away to her own room and wrote a little note. ‘It’s found. Happy trip, darling. We’ll listen to you.’ When she came back and slid it under Flossie’s door the room beyond was still quite silent.
Ursula