Considering him: weak eyes, harassed brow, peevish mouth; and remembering Nathaniel's dominant personality, the Inspector disbelieved him, but he did not press the matter. He thought the whole pack of them were lying, one way or another, some to shield others, some from fear. No sense in getting oneself bogged in a swamp of misstatements until he'd heard what the experts, busy in Nathaniel's room upstairs, had gleaned. He seemed, therefore, to accept Mottisfont's statements, and asked the inevitable question: "When you left the drawing-room, where did you go?"
He'd known what the answer would be, of course. Mottisfont had gone up to his room, to change for dinner, and had not come out of it again until he had joined the rest of the party in the drawing-room.
The Inspector dismissed him, suppressing a sigh. Alibis were the bane of a detective's life, but he felt he would have welcomed one now. Gave one something to catch hold of, in a manner of speaking. You might have a chance of disproving an alibi: more of a chance, at any rate, than of disproving that these people had all been in their own rooms when Nathaniel was killed.
Consulting his notebook, the Inspector sent for Miss Dean.
As soon as Valerie came into the room, he saw that she was badly frightened. He did not think, critically surveying her, that she would be capable of stabbing anyone, but he thought she could be scared into talking, and felt more hopeful.
Her first words were an agitated disclaimer of any knowledge at all of the crime, and a demand to be allowed to go home at once. He told her that she had nothing to be afraid of, if she was quite frank with him.
She said: "But I don't know anything! I went straight up to my room to change. I never had any quarrel with Mr. Herriard! I can't think why you should want to question me. I should have thought Miss Herriard was the person who could tell you most. It was all her fault!"
"What makes you say that, miss?"
"Because it was! Of course, they'll all be furious with me for saying so, but I don't see why I should sacrifice myself to protect them! She wanted Mr. Herriard to let her have two thousand pounds to finance Mr. Roydon's play - though I'm absolutely certain he had nothing to do with it, because he's not that kind of person at all. But Paula was furious because Mr. Herriard didn't like Willoughby's play, silly old fool, and she had a simply frantic row with him, and absolutely slammed out of the room. Actually, it's a marvellous play, but Mr. Herriard was definitely moth-eaten, and he rather loathed it. Besides which he was in a stinking temper already, because I rather think he'd been having a row with Mr. Mottisfont."
"What about?" asked the Inspector quickly.