Henry Lupton, who had up till now remained discreetly in the background, said: “Yes, my dear, of course!” and with a deprecating look in Dr Fielding's direction, started forward to follow his wife up the stairs.
No one said anything until the Luptons were out of earshot. Dr Fielding was looking at Stella with a rueful smile; Mrs Matthews had sunk into a chair, and was wearing a resigned expression. Harriet, whose lips had been moving in silent communion with herself, suddenly said with strong indignation: “I shall never forgive her, never! I have been ordering meals for Gregory for years! None of the others killed him, so why should this one? Tell me that!”
“Ah, Harriet!” said Mrs Matthews, mournfully shaking her head.
“And don't say Ah, Harriet to me!” snapped Miss Matthews. “If anyone killed him it was you, with all the worry and disturbance about Guy—and about Stella too, now I come to think of it!”
“Oh, Deryk!” murmured Stella, “we're a dreadful family!”
Their fingers met and clasped for a brief moment.
“I wish you wouldn't all talk such rot!” suddenly ejaculated Guy from the dining-room doorway. “It's obvious what uncle died of! Nobody killed him!”
“If anyone mentions the word duck again, I rather think I shall scream,” said Stella.
The sound of a door being shut upstairs warned them of Mrs Lupton's return. She came down the stairs with her lips tightly compressed, and she did not say anything at all until she reached the hall. Then she drew a hissing breath, and said with strong feeling: “Terrible! I am inexpressibly shocked by what I have seen. My poor brother!”
“Yes, indeed,” said Henry Lupton, who was looking unhappier than ever. “Terrible, terrible!”