Mr Spiller did not realize that he had struck very hard. He hardly

realized that lie had struck at all. He thought he had aimed a blow, and that Gooch had dodged it and tripped over the leg ofthe occasional table. But he was not very clear in his mind, except on one point. Gooch was dead.

He had not fainted; he was not stunned. He was dead. He must have caught the brass curb of the fender as he fell. There was no blood, but Mr Spiller, exploring the inert head with anxious fingers, found a spot above the temple where the bone yielded to pressure like a cracked egg-shell. The noise of the fall had beenthunderous. Kneeling there on the library floor, Mr Spiller waited tor the inevitable cry and footsteps from upstairs.

Nothing happened. He remembered - with difficulty, for his mind seemed to be working slowly and stiffly — that above the library there was only the long drawing-room, and over that the spare-room and bathrooms. No inhabited bedroom looked out on that side of the house.

A slow, grinding, grating noise startled him. He whisked roundhastily. The old-fashioned grandfather clock, wheezing as the hammer rose into action, struck eleven. He wiped the sweat from hisforehead, got up and poured himself out another, and a stiffer,

Brandy.

The drink did him good. It seemed to take the brake off his mind, and the wheels span energetically. An extraordinary clarity took the place of his previous confusion.

He had murdered Gooch. He had not exactly intended to do so, but he had done it. It had not felt to him like murder, but there was not the slightest doubt what the police would think about it. And once he was in the hands of the police - Mr Spillershuddered. They would almost certainly want to take his finger-prints, and would be surprised to recognize a bunch of old

friends. Masters had heard him say that he would wait up for Gooch.

Crime Never Pays

The Fountain Plays

Masters knew that everybody else had gone to bed. Masters would undoubtedly guess something. But stop!

Could Masters prove that he himself had gone to bed? Yes, probably he could. Somebody would have heard him cross thecourt and seen the light go up over the garage. One could not hope to throw suspicion on Masters - besides, the man hardlydeserved that. But the mere idea had started Mr Spiller's brain on a new and attractive line of thought.

What he really wanted was an alibi. If he could only confusethe police as to the tune at which Gooch had died. If Good: could be made to seem alive after he was dead ... somehow ...

He cast his thoughts back over stories he had read on holiday, dealing with this very matter. You dressed up as the dead man and impersonated him. You telephoned in his name. In the hearing ofthe butler, you spoke to the dead man as though he were alive. You made a gramophone record of his voice and played it. You hid the body, and thereafter sent a forged letter from some distant place -

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 806