BOBBY'S THEORY
Michael slid off the table and took two strides in the direction of the
door, but Jerry checked him with a warning hand, and said steadily:
'Come in.'
Slowly the door opened and Bobby Manvers's chubby, smiling face
appeared. With a shout of laughter, Michael dropped into a chair.
'What's the joke?' asked Bobby, in some surprise.
'Nothing, Bobby,' Jerry assured him. 'We weren't expecting to see you,
that's all.'
'By the look on Michael's face you were expecting a s-summons at
least,' said Bobby. 'Anyway, how are you, Jerry? Feel as if I hadn't
seen you for years.'
'It seems ages,' agreed Jerry. 'That's because so much happens these
days. What have you been up to, Bobby? Found any clues?'
'N-not many,' admitted Bobby, 'but I still----Well, I know you won't
believe me, Jerry, but I still think it was murder.'
'As a matter of fact,' said Jerry, mechanically twisting a candlestick
on her mantelpiece, 'I'm not sure I don't agree with you.'
'Good Lord! Why, what's happened?'
For answer she took from the loose-leaf book the pages she had just
read to Michael, and handed them to Bobby, who sat down on the table
to read them, his round young face very grave. Jerry offered Michael a
cigarette, and lit one herself. There was silence in the little room,
until at last Bobby laid the papers down on the table.
'That proves it,' he said slowly. 'Jerry, what do you feel about this
business?'
'I feel that it is our duty to see that this enterprising unknown gets
his envelope back, and that the man Robertson be apprehended, tried,
sentenced, and well and truly hanged,' said Jerry, with a flippancy
that did not hide the stark purpose underlying her tone.
Bobby nodded. 'We've still got some time in hand, as far as the
envelope is concerned,' he said. 'Let's see, to-day's the sixth, isn't
it? But we've got to set about getting this chap Robertson. Look here,
Jerry, will you tell me exactly what happened that Sunday morning, when
you found your father?'
Jerry told him, with no more words than were necessary. She told him
how she had waked suddenly; had gone down and found her father dead;
had rung up the doctor, and failed to get through.
'And then what did you do?' asked Bobby.
'Went out to the front door. I wanted some fresh air.'
'Was anyone in sight?'
'Yes. A motorist, changing a tyre.'
'Did he see you?'
'Yes.' Jerry hesitated, and then continued coolly: 'I spoke to him,
and told him what had happened. He was very helpful. I didn't know
what to do, so he came in, and got hold of a doctor for me, and saw to
everything. Then I went back to bed, and left him and the doctor in
charge.'
Bobby was silent for a moment.
'What was his name?' he asked suddenly.
'I don't know,' said Jerry. 'He didn't tell me his surname; just said
he was called "Nick."'
'Didn't that strike you as being rather odd?'
'Oh, my dear Bobby!' Jerry's tone was impatient. 'So many impossible
things had already happened that morning that nothing seemed odd any
longer. What are you driving at?'
'Well, has it never occurred to you that he might have been the
murderer?'
Jerry stared, and then smiled.
'No, Bobby, it hasn't. And it doesn't strike me as probable, even now.'
'Well, you must admit that it's all rather strange. To start with,
according to medical authority, the professor had been dead less than
half an hour when you found him. I wouldn't mind betting that it was
the sound of his fall that woke you. Now, the murderer came for that
letter and he didn't search for it. One of two reasons prevented him.
Either your father told him that it was in the bank, or else he heard
you coming downstairs. Imagine that he heard you, and cleared out.
Which would have been his easiest exit? He didn't go by the window, we
know. It was still bolted when Lucy went in there. She told me so.'
'The front door,' said Jerry. 'He'd have had to pass the foot of the
stairs to go out by the back.'
'Well, suppose he went out by the front door. Wouldn't this motorist
chap have seen him? You can't change a wheel in less than five minutes,
you know.'
'Yes, I suppose so,' said Jerry slowly.
'And if he did see him, as it seems he must, isn't it a little odd that
he didn't say so?'
'But look here, Bobby, this man was about thirty, fair and
clean-shaven. William's description of Mr. Robertson doesn't fit.'
'That might easily be a disguise, which he removed before you came out.
And then, if he was innocent, why didn't he turn up to give evidence at
the inquest? He was the first person, bar you, in the house. Why didn't
the doctor fellow call him as a witness?'
'There might be half a hundred reasons for that,' said Jerry. 'He
might have been out of England. For the rest of your theory, the
murderer may have never left the house till afterwards; or he may
equally well have gone before the motorist arrived; I don't know how
long I was in the study. I hate to crab your theory, but it doesn't
sound frightfully conclusive to me. I admit that it might have been
the motorist, but it might just as easily not have been. None of his
actions were suspicious, unless you count the fact that he didn't tell
me his surname, and a good many men have concealed that in their time,
I expect.'
Bobby shook his head, unconvinced, and even Michael looked grave. Jerry
laughed, conscious of rising irritation.
'The thing to decide, at the moment, is whether or not we are to hand
these papers of William's to Scotland Yard. I'm against it, myself.
If William's pal had wanted his story to go to the police, he'd have
said so. The envelope isn't addressed to the Yard, remember. If we
give them William's papers, they'll want the envelope, too. Suppose we
advertise for the man? We might try a notice in "The Times," headed
"The Jameson," and see what happens.'
'Far too dangerous,' said Bobby decidedly. 'This man Robertson is no
fool. You bet he'll be on the lookout. And he knows you're alone, now.'
'Still clinging to the idea of the murderous motorist?' said Jerry.
'You're barking up the wrong tree, Bobby.'
'My dear child, I'm sure the fellow was frightfully sympathetic and
all that, but you mustn't let it upset your judgment. You can't take
people by their face values in a show like this. After all, that's what
your father did with Robertson. And to put an advertisement in the
paper at this stage would be insanity. I won't have you running into
danger like that.'
Jerry raised her eyebrows, and her voice was dangerously silky as she
answered.
'I haven't yet decided what I'll do, Bobby, darling, but when I do,
I'll let you know. In the mean time, I would rather you refrained from
taking any steps without referring to me.'
There was a second's silence.
'I know it's n-none of my business,' said Bobby, 'but for God's sake,
don't get yourself into a hole, Jerry. We're all reasonably fond of
you, and I've got a horrid feeling that you don't realise how dangerous
this affair may be.'
'I do, and I only wish I had someone to advise me,' said Jerry,
with deliberate intent to wound. 'Some man with a certain amount of
experience, who knew what he was talking about. I'm tired of jumping to
conclusions.'
Bobby bit his lip and looked unhappily at the floor.
'Why not ask old Toby Ward what he thinks about it?' suggested Michael.
'He's a lawyer, and at the same time he manages to be human.'
'I don't think I know him,' said Jerry frostily.
Michael restrained a smile, and his eyes narrowed.
'I should very much like you to meet him,' he said.
Their eyes met and clashed. Then Jerry bubbled with laughter.
'All right, Michael,' she said. 'Will you drive me down there
to-morrow?'
'I will.'
Jerry glanced at Bobby, and relented.
'Can we take Bobby, too?' she asked. 'Will you come, Robert? Do!'
Bobby's face cleared, and he rose to his feet.
'Thanks awfully, I'd love to,' he said. 'I s-say, it's past two, and
I'm starving. Can't you both come and have lunch with me?'
'I think I should like to very much,' said Jerry. 'I must be back by
half-past three, though, because I'm going out to tea.' She caught
Michael's eye and smiled. 'If you will wait two minutes while I get my
hat on----' The sentence unfinished, she ran off.
Michael offered Bobby a cigarette in silent sympathy.
'One has got to be damned careful with that child,' said Bobby. 'I was
a fool.'
Michael nodded.
'All the same, Mike, it _d-does_ look a bit suspicious. That motorist
bloke, and all.'
'I know,' said Michael. 'Not sure I don't agree with you. But there's
no point in my saying so too. She's having tea with me this afternoon.
Here she comes.'
'I'm ready,' announced Jerry blithely. 'Lead me to lunch, Bobby. Exit
three care-free people, screaming for food.'
Michael and Bobby exchanged a swift glance, in which amusement,
despair, and resignation were evenly blended.