Dr. Fell Meets the Murderer
They got back into the clearing somehow. Even then, Hugh remembered accidentally kicking Spinelli's hat as they crossed the brick path. By common consent they made for the Guest House. It was full of ugly suggestions and memories, but it was better than that area where the sniper had left his messy trophies.
Morgan peered at the house, and stopped. "I know what's wrong," he said. Funny. It never occurred to me before. Do you know what we've done? The lights, man!" He pointed. "We've chased somebody we couldn't find all over the house and the grounds, and we never once thought to turn on the lights inside… Add psychological quirks, if you can add anything. What am I talking about anyway? Anyway, what we need is light… "
He ran up on the porch, and groped round inside the open front door. The electric lights of the hall glowed out; gloomy enough, but better than the darkness. They stood in the light as they might have stood before a fire on a cold day.
"All we can do," said Hugh, sitting down on the step, "is to take it easy and wait until Murch gets back with some — some minions." (That, he thought, was an idiotic word to use; like somebody in a bad play. "Minions!" What put that into his head?)
Morgan nodded. He stood bracing himself against the doorway, the collar of his blazer drawn up, and his face turned away.
"Uh. Yes, that's all. Question is, who is this Langdon down there, and why should he get killed?"
"I don't know why he should get killed. As to who he was, you'd have to hear all about what happened tonight. It's a longish story, and I don't feel up to it. Not just yet, anyhow. But—" an idea occurred to him, "but at least there's something about it you ought to know."
Automatically Morgan took out his flask and handed it over. "Fire away," he said.
"Well, the fact is that my old man — the bishop, you know — got an idea into his head that you were the murderer; or, at least, a pretty suspicious character."