"Well, she's in it too. I don't mean that she committed the murder, for from what Colwall tells me it doesn't look as though she's the sort of girl who could do such a thing, but she was one of the people staying in the house at the time. Stephen brought her down, presumably to introduce her to Nat. According to what the servants say, they didn't get on at all. Quite possible that Nat's annoyance over her may have precipitated matters."
"Precipitated matters?" repeated Hemingway.
"Don't know that it's quite fair to say that," amended the Major. "But there seems to have been a row between Nat and Stephen. Of course, if Nat threatened to cut Stephen off with a shilling if he married the girl - well, you never know, do you? I wouldn't put it beyond Stephen to stick a knife into someone. Always seemed to me a callous young devil. Then there's this Roydon fellow."
From the Major's expression it could easily be deduced that he disapproved profoundly of Mr. Roydon. The reason was at once made apparent. "He calls himself a playwright, or some such nonsense," said the Major.
"He does, does he?" said Hemingway. "Well, that's very interesting, sir. What did you say his name was?"
"Willoughby Roydon. Don't suppose you've heard of him; I know I hadn't. As far as I can make out, he hasn't had anything put on - really put on, I mean."
The Inspector appeared to appreciate the distinction, nodding, and saying sapiently: "Sunday evenings, eh? Uplift and Modernism. I know. What's he doing in the case, sir?"
"Friend of Paula Herriard. He's written a play which she wanted her uncle to back. Don't know what it was about. Daresay it would be all the same to me if I did. I don't go in for that kind of thing. Can't stand highbrows at any price. Point is, Nat didn't like it. This Roydon fellow seems to have read the thing aloud to him yesterday afternoon, and Nat lost his temper over it, and there was a general sort of a row. Well, I'm a fair-minded man, and, after all, you can't be surprised, can you? I mean, coming down to stay with a man, and then reading stuff aloud to him! Never heard of such a thing!"
"Did Mr. Herriard quarrel with Mr. Roydon, then?" asked Hemingway.
"That we can't make out, can we, Colwall? Roydon says he didn't."