"Yes, it was quite a hobby of his." Joseph glanced over his shoulder, summoning up a brave smile. "I used to tease him about it! And now this has happened!"
"I daresay you feel it more than most," sympathised the Inspector.
"Perhaps I do. One doesn't like to be egotistical, but the younger generation have all their lives before them. I feel very much alone now."
They had mounted the stairs by now, and while the constable who had been left in charge at the Manor cut the tapes that sealed the door of Nathaniel's room, the Inspector took stock of his surroundings. He wanted to know who occupied the various rooms opening on to the main hall, and he asked to be shown the backstairs and the sewing-room. By the time he had looked at these, the door into Nathaniel's room had been opened, and the constable was waiting for him to enter.
The room had not been touched since the removal of Nathaniel's body, and Joseph winced perceptibly at the sight of his dress-clothes, still laid out upon a chair. He turned away, shading his eyes with his hand, while the Inspector's trained gaze absorbed every detail of the room.
The Inspector had studied the photographs taken of the corpse, but when Joseph seemed to have recovered a little from his emotion, he asked him to describe the position in which he had found his brother. He asked more questions, and Joseph soon warmed to his narrative, and might even, by unkind persons, have been thought to have been enjoying himself considerably. His own and Stephen's shock lost nothing in the telling; he had a good memory, and was able with very little prompting to reconstruct the scene of the crime for Hemingway. He even presented him with two separate theories to account for the position in which Stephen's cigarette-case had been found, which, as Hemingway afterwards remarked to his Sergeant, was excessive.
"Nice old chap," said the Sergeant.
"He's nice enough, but he'll very likely drive me mad before I'm through with this," returned Hemingway. "If I get a line on any of his blessed relatives, he'll lie awake all night, thinking up a set of highly unconvincing reasons to account for their doings. Anything strike you about this case?"
The Sergeant stroked his chin. "I'd say it was a fair stinker," he volunteered.
"Stinker!" ejaculated Hemingway. "It couldn't have happened!"