"I'll be your assistant," Pointer said promptly. "I've often seen them given."
Again Birekbeck nodded, and they entered together.
The room was very modern. The walls seemed entirely made of mirrors except for inset cupboards of aluminum. The ceiling was of the same metal. The chairs were mere puffs of satin held together by what looked like wires. On the bed with its black silk pillows and sheets lay Mrs. Armstrong fully dressed. Her eyes were closed at the moment. Yes, Pointer thought, she looked as though she had had a very complete, and very recent, shock. He did not need to ask the doctor if this were acting. While the latter opened a bag that he had brought upstairs with him, Pointer swiftly took out a flexible steel rule from his waistcoat pocket, one that coiled up at a touch into a neat metal case. One stretch of his long arms and he knew that Mrs. Armstrong's height from the top of her neatly parted hair to the tips of her high heels was five foot eight.
Birckbeck was used to strange doings on Pointer's part, but he shot him a questioning look which the chief inspector did not choose to see. The doctor on that, motioned to a small bottle marked ether in his bag, a packet of wool, and finally to a place on Mrs. Armstrong's arm.
Pointer swabbed obediently. A woman standing by the window turned and watched him as though she hardly saw him. Mrs. Armstrong's maid brought in a quilt. Pointer told her to come out onto the landing for a word with him as soon as the doctor could spare her.
She did not keep him waiting long. He opened the first door beside him and they stepped into a plainly furnished, comfortable bedroom, Armstrong's room. A constable stood by the window.
"When did you last see Mr. Armstrong?" Pointer asked. Her eyes had told him that she knew who he was.
"He looked in at Mrs. Armstrong this morning before she got up. I was just turning on the bath. About nine, that would be. She's an awfully early riser, too. Though not as bad as he is. He only stood in the doorway for a moment to say that he was off for the day on something very important, and couldn't possibly be back to lunch and very possibly might be late for dinner, too."
"Was his manner as usual?" he asked next.
"Oh, no! Not at all as usual. He had a paper—a letter—in his hand, just drawn out of its envelope, and he kept looking at it as though half-reading it while he talked. Seemed to have given him a rare shock I thought even then. Spoke hastily, too, as though only half thinking of what he was saying. And in a hurry, too. As though impatient to be off. Just opened the door and stood there as though longing to be away."
"What did Mrs. Armstrong say?"
"She said, 'But what about this afternoon, Boyd?' He said impatiently, 'I can't help that. Make some excuse for me. I've got to leave at once and can't possibly be back till this evening.'"
"And what did she say then?"
"Nothing, except 'Very well, Boyd,' or something like that. Anyway, he didn't wait to hear what she said before he shut the door and ran down the stairs."
"Did he speak as though there had been any quarrel between himself and Mrs. Armstrong?"
"Oh, no!" The maid's tone was honestly amused. "Oh, dear no! Simply preoccupied and in a tearing hurry."
"Did Mrs. Armstrong make any comment to you on his leaving like that?"
"Yes, several times. She said, 'I wonder what is calling Mr. Armstrong away so unexpectedly,' and 'I can't think what he's in such a rush about.' And once she laughed a little and said, 'I do believe he's running away from the tea party this afternoon, Meade.' Meade is my name. 'How cowardly of him!' But that was only her fun. Mr. Armstrong was terribly rushed by something. Looked as if he hadn't a moment to catch the train, you know what I mean."
Pointer did. There came a tap on the door of the room and a man put his head in. He was one of Pointer's plain clothes men, and said nothing, only showed himself and then vanished, very much as a ghost might do at a séance. But Pointer, unlike sitters at a séance, was in no doubt as to the meaning of the apparition. Major Hardy had arrived.
"Who is that lady in Mrs. Armstrong's room?" he asked, as he thanked the maid and prepared to go downstairs.
"That's Lady Grail. A great friend of Mrs. Armstrong. She was in the Chinese rooms and saw it all. She nearly fainted herself. I had to get her a lot of brandy before she could help with Mrs. Armstrong at all."
"And did Mr. Callard need brandy too?" Pointer asked, a little dryly.
"Didn't he take it coolly! I was in the room when he brought Mrs. Armstrong in, and he said—all he said was, 'Here's your mistress. Mr. Armstrong's just been found dead in Major Hardy's chest.' And laid her on her bed and walked out again. I didn't believe it. Not until Lady Grail came tottering in a moment later."
Pointer had heard from Schofild about Lady Grail's expression before the lid of the chest had been raised, and about Callard's remark to her, and her reply to him. He now asked for a word with her. She came out after some minutes.
"I know nothing whatever about it. Well, then, if I must go into all the horrible details, I'll come downstairs. I need a couple of cocktails first."
Downstairs Schofild joined them. She led the way into one of the roams and pressed a button in the automatic cocktail mixer that stood in a corner behind a so-called bar. Only when she had a glass in her hand did she turn again to the chief inspector. She had large brown eyes that looked either frank or bold, according to her mood, or possibly according to one's point of view. Pointer was amazed at the speed with which that cocktail vanished. She pressed the button again. He decided that if they wanted a clear account from her, the sooner they got it the better.
"Will you be kind enough to tell us just what happened in the Chinese suite," he said in his pleasant, grave way. "This gentleman"—she evidently did not know Schofild, nor recognize him as having been present at the afternoon's horrible happening—"expected to meet Mr. Armstrong here this afternoon. He is helping us to investigate the case."
The glass in her hand shook violently.
"Horrible!" said she, half under her breath. "Quite too shattering for words." She bit her lip, and, tossing down the liquid left in the tumbler, turned once more to the metal friend behind the bar.
"Sorry, but as an eyewitness?" Pointer murmured.
"Well, when she opened the chest she fainted," Lady Grail rapped out sharply, "fainted dead away. I didn't know women ever did that any more."
"But before the chest was opened?" Schofild asked. She looked vaguely at him.
"I don't know what happened before the chest was opened," she spoke impatiently. "I was too far back in the room to see well—until just at the last, when I happened to be near the end of the rooms. I can only tell you that when the lid was lifted, she pitched forward as though some one had struck her down from behind. It really was ghastly."
"What time was this?" Pointer now asked.
"I don't know. Long past five. They were fearfully late in bringing out the chest. I thought they would never come along with it."
Now Schofild knew that the chest had made its appearance from behind the curtain that covered the niche where it had stood—at just a quarter past five.
He suggested this time to her. "Much more like a quarter to six!" she maintained.
Schofild decided that impatience had made the minutes drag; but why the impatience? Further questions brought no new facts to light. Had Mr. Callard been there before the chest was brought in, Pointer inquired. She said that she did not know. He might have been. Probably was, but she had not noticed him.
She was thanked, and allowed to continue her cocktails alone. Before meeting Major Hardy, Pointer telephoned to the family solicitors. They knew the contents of Mr. Armstrong's only will, they said. Told, in confidence, that Mr. Armstrong had been found dead at his house in Charles Street, the head of the firm assured the chief inspector that there was nothing in the will left with them long ago that could have any bearing on either suicide