Came the sound of a commotion from the hall. With a muttered excuse, Boyd went quickly from the room. Anthony knelt to examine the body.
It sprawled upon the hearth-rugs, legs towards the window in the opposite wall. The red-tiled edge of the open grate forced up the neck. The almost hairless head was dreadfully battered; crossed and re-crossed by five or six gaping gashes, each nearly half an inch wide and an inch or so deep. Of the scalp little remained but islands and peninsulas of skin and bone streaked with the dark brown of dried blood, among it ribands of grey film where the brain had oozed from the wounds.
The body was untouched, though the clothes were rumpled and twisted. The right arm was outstretched, the rigid fingers of the hand resting among the pots of fern which filled the fireplace. The left arm was doubled under the body.
Anthony, having gazed his fill, rose to his feet. As he did so, Boyd re-entered. He looked flushed and not a little annoyed.
Anthony turned to him, raising his eyebrows.
‘Only a bit more trouble with some of these newspaper fellows, sir. But thank the Lord, I’ve got rid of ’em now. Told ’em I’d give ’em a statement tonight. What they’d say if they knew you were here—and why—God knows. There’ll be a row after the case is over, but there you are. Miss Hoode’s agreeable to you, and I don’t blame her, but she won’t hear of any of the others being let in. I don’t blame her for that either.’ He nodded towards the body. ‘What d’you make of it, sir?’
‘Shocking messy kill,’ Anthony said.
‘You’re right, sir. But what about—things in general, so to speak?’
Anthony looked round the room. It bore traces of disturbance. Two light chairs had been overturned. Books and papers from the desk strewed the floor. The grandfather clock, which should have stood sentinel on the left of the door as one entered it, had fallen, though not completely. It lay face-downwards at an angle of some forty-five degrees with the floor, the upper half of its casing supported by the back of a large sofa.
‘Struggle?’ said Anthony.
‘Yes,’ said Boyd.
‘Queer struggle,’ said Anthony. He sauntered off on a tour of the room.
Boyd watched him curiously as he halted before the sofa, dropped on one knee, and peered up at the face of the reclining clock.
He looked up at Boyd. ‘Stopped at ten-forty-five. That make the murder fit in with the times the people in the house have told you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘When are you going to have the room tidied?’
‘Any time now. We’ve got the photos.’
‘Right.’ Anthony got to his feet. ‘Let us, Boyd, unite our strength and put grand-dad on his feet.’
Between them they raised the clock. Anthony opened the case and set the pendulum swinging. A steady tick-tock began at once.
Anthony looked at his watch. ‘Stopped exactly twelve hours ago, did grandfather,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t seem to be damaged, though.’
‘No, sir. It takes a lot to put those old clocks out of order.’
Anthony went back to the front of the sofa and stood looking down at the carpet.
‘No fingerprints, you said?’
‘Except on the wood-rasp, absolutely none but those of the deceased, sir. I’ve dusted nearly every inch of the room with white or black. All I got for my pains were four good prints of the deceased’s thumb and forefinger. They’re easy enough to tell—very queer-shaped fingers and a long scar on the ball of his right thumb.’
Anthony changed the subject. ‘What time did you get here, Boyd?’
‘About four this morning. We came by car. I made some preliminary inquiries, questioned some of the people, and went down to the village at about eight.’
‘Who’s that great red hulk of a sergeant?’ said Anthony, flitting to yet another subject. ‘You ought to watch him, Boyd. When I came along he was indulging in a little third degree.’
‘I heard it, sir. That’s why I came in.’
‘Good. Who was the timid little ferret?’
‘Belford—Robert Belford, sir. He’s a sort of assistant to Poole and was valet to the deceased.’
‘How did he answer when you questioned him?’
‘Very confused he was. But his story’s all right—very reasonable. I don’t consider him, so to speak. He hasn’t got the nerve, or the strength.’
Anthony stroked his chin. ‘It’s easy enough to see,’ he said, ‘that you don’t want to be persuaded away from your idea that an outsider did this job.’
‘You’re right, sir,’ Boyd smiled. ‘As far as I’ve progressed yet an outsider’s my fancy. Most decidedly. Still, one never knows where the next turning’s going to lead to, so to speak. Of course, I’ve got a lot of inquiries afoot—but so far we’ve less than nothing to go on.’
‘Anything stolen?’
‘Nothing.’
Anthony was still gazing down at the carpet before the sofa. Again he dropped on one knee. This time he rubbed at the thick pile with his fingers. He rose, darting a look round the room.
‘What’s up, sir?’ Boyd was watching attentively.
‘A most convenient struggle that,’ murmured Anthony.
‘What’s that? What d’you mean, sir?’
‘I was remarking, O Boyd, that the struggle had been, for the murderer, of an almost incredible convenience. Observe that the two chairs which were overturned are far from heavy; observe also that the carpet is very far from thin. These light chairs fell, not, mark you, on the parquet edging of the floor, but conveniently inwards upon this thickest of thick carpets. Observe also, most puissant inspector, that the articles dislodged from the writing-table, besides falling on the carpet, are nothing but light books and papers. Nothing heavy, you see. Nothing which would make a noise.’
‘I follow you, sir,’ Boyd cried. ‘You mean—’
‘’Ush, ’ush, I will ’ave ’ush! I would finally direct your attention to the highly convenient juxtaposition of this sofa here and our friend the clock. This sofa is a solid, stolid lump of a sofa; it’s none of your trifling divans. In fact, it would require not merely a sudden jerk but a steady and lusty pull to move it, wouldn’t it?’
The detective applied his considerable weight to the arm of the sofa. Nothing happened.
‘You see!’ continued Anthony with a gesture. ‘See you also then the almost magical convenience with which, in the course of the struggle, this lumping sofa was moved back towards grandfather, who stood nearly three feet from the sofa’s usual position, which position can be ascertained by noting these four deep dents made in the carpet by the castors. Oh, it’s all so convenient. The sofa’s moved back, then grandfather falls, not with a loud crash to the floor but quietly, softly, on to the back of the sofa. Further, those two vases on that table there beside the clock weren’t upset at all by the upheaval. Those vases wobble when one walks across the room, Boyd. No, it won’t do; it won’t do at all.’
‘You’re saying there wasn’t any struggle at all; that the scene was set, so to speak.’ Boyd’s tone was eager. His little grey eyes were alight with interest.
Anthony nodded. ‘Your inference is right.’
‘I