Rogers cried:
‘It’s the truth, sir. I swear to God it’s the truth. I didn’t know what it was—not for a moment. It had a name on it—I thought it was just a piece of music.’
Wargrave looked at Lombard.
‘Was there a title on it?’
Lombard nodded. He grinned suddenly, showed his white pointed teeth. He said:
‘Quite right, sir. It was entitled Swan Song…’
III
General Macarthur broke out suddenly. He exclaimed:
‘The whole thing is preposterous—preposterous! Slinging accusations about like this! Something must be done about it. This fellow Owen whoever he is—’
Emily Brent interrupted. She said sharply:
‘That’s just it, who is he?’
The judge interposed. He spoke with the authority that a lifetime in the courts had given him. He said:
‘That is exactly what we must go into very carefully. I should suggest that you get your wife to bed first of all, Rogers. Then come back here.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Dr Armstrong said:
‘I’ll give you a hand, Rogers.’
Leaning on the two men, Mrs Rogers tottered out of the room. When they had gone Tony Marston said:
‘Don’t know about you, sir, but I could do with a drink.’
Lombard said:
‘I agree.’
Tony said:
‘I’ll go and forage.’
He went out of the room.
He returned a second or two later.
‘Found them all waiting on a tray outside ready to be brought in.’
He set down his burden carefully. The next minute or two was spent in dispensing drinks. General Macarthur had a stiff whisky and so did the judge. Every one felt the need of a stimulant. Only Emily Brent demanded and obtained a glass of water.
Dr Armstrong re-entered the room.
‘She’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’ve given her a sedative to take. What’s that, a drink? I could do with one.’
Several of the men refilled their glasses. A moment or two later Rogers re-entered the room.
Mr Justice Wargrave took charge of the proceedings. The room became an impromptu court of law.
The judge said:
‘Now then, Rogers, we must get to the bottom of this. Who is this Mr Owen?’
Rogers stared.
‘He owns this place, sir.’
‘I am aware of that fact. What I want you to tell me is what you yourself know about the man.’
Rogers shook his head.
‘I can’t say, sir. You see, I’ve never seen him.’
There was a faint stir in the room.
General Macarthur said:
‘You’ve never seen him? What d’yer mean?’
‘We’ve only been here just under a week, sir, my wife and I. We were engaged by letter, through an agency. The Regina Agency in Plymouth.’
Blore nodded.
‘Old established firm,’ he volunteered.
Wargrave said:
‘Have you got that letter?’
‘The letter engaging us? No, sir. I didn’t keep it.’
‘Go on with your story. You were engaged, as you say, by letter.’
‘Yes, sir. We were to arrive on a certain day. We did. Everything was in order here. Plenty of food in stock and everything very nice. Just needed dusting and that.’
‘What next?’
‘Nothing, sir. We got orders—by letter again—to prepare the rooms for a house-party, and then yesterday by the afternoon post I got another letter from Mr Owen. It said he and Mrs Owen were detained and to do the best we could, and it gave the instructions about dinner and coffee and putting on the gramophone record.’
The judge said sharply:
‘Surely you’ve got that letter?’
‘Yes, sir, I’ve got it here.’
He produced it from a pocket. The judge took it.
‘H’m,’ he said. ‘Headed Ritz Hotel and typewritten.’
With a quick movement Blore was beside him.
He said:
‘If you’ll just let me have a look.’
He twitched it out of the other’s hand, and ran his eye over it. He murmured:
‘Coronation machine. Quite new—no defects. Ensign paper—the most widely used make. You won’t get anything out of that. Might be fingerprints, but I doubt it.’
Wargrave stared at him with sudden attention.
Anthony Marston was standing beside Blore looking over his shoulder. He said:
‘Got some fancy Christian names, hasn’t he? Ulick Norman Owen. Quite a mouthful.’
The old judge said with a slight start:
‘I am obliged to you, Mr Marston. You have drawn my attention to a curious and suggestive point.’
He looked round at the others and thrusting his neck forward like an angry tortoise, he said:
‘I think the time has come for us all to pool our information. It would be well, I think, for everybody to come forward with all the information they have regarding the owner of this house.’ He paused and then went on: ‘We are all his guests. I think it would be profitable if each one of us were to explain exactly how that came about.’
There was a moment’s pause and then Emily Brent spoke with decision.
‘There’s something very peculiar about all this,’ she said. ‘I received a letter with a signature that was not very easy to read. It purported to be from a woman I had met at a certain summer resort two or three years ago. I took the name to be either Ogden or Oliver. I am acquainted with a Mrs Oliver and also with a Miss Ogden. I am quite certain that I have never met, or become friendly with any one of the name of Owen.’
Mr Justice Wargrave said:
‘You have that letter, Miss Brent?’
‘Yes, I will fetch it for you.’
She went away and returned a minute later with the letter.
The judge read it. He said:
‘I begin to understand… Miss Claythorne?’
Vera explained the circumstances of her secretarial engagement.
The judge said:
‘Marston?’
Anthony said:
‘Got a wire. From a pal of mine. Badger Berkeley. Surprised me at the time because I had an idea the old horse had gone to Norway. Told me to roll up here.’
Again Wargrave nodded. He said:
‘Dr Armstrong?’
‘I was called in professionally.’
‘I