The murder of Sampson Warrenby naturally formed the sole topic for conversation over the supper-table, Miss Patterdale making no attempt to restrain the enthusiasm of her niece and (adopted) nephew, but maintaining her own belief that it would lead to unpleasantness. Charles was able to perceive, academically speaking, that there might be a great deal of truth in this; but Abby said simply that she had never hoped to realise an ambition to be, as she phrased it, mixed up in a murder-case. Miss Patterdale, regarding her with a fondly indulgent eye, very handsomely said that she was glad it had happened while she was there to enjoy it.
The subject was still under discussion when, having washed up all the plates and cutlery, the party sat down to drink coffee in the parlour. Miss Patterdale had just ascertained that Mavis, under the influence of aspirin, had sunk into a deep sleep, when a knock on the door heralded the arrival of Gavin Plenmeller, who had come, as he unashamedly confessed, to Talk About the Murder.
“Good heavens, is it all over the village already?” exclaimed Miss Patterdale, ushering him into the parlour.
“But could you doubt that it would be? We had the news in the Red Lion within ten minutes of Hobkirk's setting out for the scene of the crime. Mrs. Hobkirk brought it to us, and very grateful we were. News has been coming in for the past hour and more: I was quite unable to drag myself away, though there was a duck and green peas waiting for me at home. Instead, I ate a singularly nauseating meal at the Red Lion. I can't think how we ever came to be famed for our hostelries. Thank you, I should love some coffee! Where is the heroine of this affair?”
“Lying down upstairs,” answered Abby. “How did you know she was here?”
“It is easy to see that you are a town-dweller,” said Gavin, dropping a lump of sugar into his cup. “I used to be one myself, and I'm so glad Walter made it possible for me to return to Thornden. Life is very dull in London. You are dependent on the Radio and the Press for all the news. Of course I know that Mavis Warrenby is here! I'm delighted to learn, however, that she's lying down upstairs: I didn't know that, though I suppose I might have guessed it. Now we can talk it all over without feeling the smallest gene.”
“How much is known in the village?” asked Charles.
“Oh, much more than the truth! That's why I came. I want to know what really happened. Now, don't tell me it was an accident! That was the first rumour that reached the Red Lion, but nothing would induce me to lend it ear. Of course Sampson Warrenby was murdered! He is recognisable as a character created only to be murdered.”
“You mean if he's been a character in one of your books,” said Abby.
“Well, he may yet be that.”