CHAPTER XIV
Nealman did not come down to dinner. He sent his apologies to the guests, pleading a headache, and through some mayhap of circumstance the coroner took his place at the head of the great, red-mahogany table. There was a grim symbolism in the thing. No one mentioned it, not one of those aristocratic sportsmen were calloused enough to jest about it, but we all felt it in the secret places of our souls.
The session at Kastle Krags was no longer one of revelry. I could fancy the wit, the repartee, the gaiety and laughter that had reigned over the board the evening previous; but Nealman’s guests were a sober group to-night. At the unspoken dictates of good taste no man talked of last night’s tragedy. Rather the men talked quietly to one another or else sat in silence. A burly negro, rigged out in a dinner coat of ancient vintage, helped with the serving in Florey’s place.
After dinner I halted the sheriff in the hall, and we had a single moment of conversation. “Slatterly,” I said, “I want you to give me some authority.”
“You do, eh?” He paused, studying my face. “What do you want to do?”
“I want your permission—to go about this house and grounds where and when I want to—and no complications in case I am caught at it. Maybe even go into some of the private rooms and effects of the guests. I want to follow up some ideas that I have in mind.”
“And when do you want to do it?”
“Any time the opportunity offers. I’m not going to do anything indiscreet. I won’t get in your way. But I’m deeply interested in this thing, I’ve had scientific training, and I want to see if I can’t do some good.”
His eyes swept once from my shoes to my head. “From amateur detectives, as a rule—Good Lord deliver us,” he said with quiet good humor. “But Killdare—I don’t see why you shouldn’t. Two heads are better than one—and I don’t seem to be getting anywhere. Really, the more intelligent help we can get—from people we can co-operate with, of course—the better.”