"What does "ages" mean, Mrs. Halliday?"
"Oh, I don't know, but ever so long! I couldn't think what he could be doing. In fact, I told him he was nearly too late for a cocktail when he came back. And I thought then that he seemed funny in his manner — awfully silent, you know. I don't know whether Basil told you, but I do think you ought to know about the blood on Mr. Guest's shirt-cuff."
"Yes, I think I certainly ought to know about that," said Harding. "Perhaps you'll tell me, Mrs. Halliday?"
"Well, I don't like saying anything against anybody but all I know is that there was blood on his cuff, and Basil called attention to it. And Mr. Guest was obviously annoyed, and he told us some story about cutting his wrist when he was opening his tobacco tin. But all I can say is nothing would induce him to let us see the cut though both Fay and I wanted to. He got frightfully curt and pulled his sleeve down. I didn't think anything of it at the time — I mean, one doesn't — but when Mrs. Twining came out with her glove all soaked with blood (it was too frightful: it made me feel absolutely sick!) and told us what had happened I couldn't help wondering. Because I know Mr. Guest is mad about Fay, and of course Sir Arthur had been pretty awful to her, going for her in public, and that sort of thing, and — well, anyway I do think you ought to know about it, because if anyone had a reason for wanting to kill Sir Arthur it was him, or Geoffrey, and not Basil." She wrenched at her handkerchief as she spoke, and added: "Mind, I don't say it was him, because it might just as easily have been Geoffrey. I shan't forget in a hurry what he did when the doctor told him his father had been murdered. I'm not easily shocked, but that just about finished me. He came in through the drawing-room window looking absolutely wild — his face was simply ghastly: dead white; and his eyes all queer and, sort of burning — and he just burst out laughing! He did honestly! It was perfectly awful; I was quite frightened of him. I said so at the time." She glanced up at Harding, and made as if to rise. "Of course, I shouldn't have told you, only that I knew no one else would, and it doesn't seem to me right the way they all try to shield one another, when poor Sir Arthur's been killed like that. Do you want to ask me anything else?"
"No, nothing else, thank you," Harding answered getting up.
"Well, can Basil and I go home? It's frightfully inconvenient for us having to hang about here, and I can't sleep a wink, my nerves are utterly on edge."
"I shall let you go home just as soon as I can," said Harding, and went to open the door for her.
When she had gone the Sergeant said severely that she seemed to him to be real spiteful. In his opinion the evidence against Basil Halliday was strong. He wanted to know what the Inspector thought of it.
Harding refused to say. "The trouble is, they're all lying," he said. "Lady Billington-Smith wants to make me believe she was not on such very bad terms with her husband; young Geoffrey wants me to think that his mood of desperation was caused by Miss de Silva, and had nothing to do with his father; Halliday is trying to shield his wife, who undoubtedly angled for that cheque; and Mrs. Halliday is attempting to throw suspicion on anyone who is not Halliday!" He ran through the papers on the table. "The head housemaid: I think I'll see her next, to check up on Mrs. Halliday's story. Ring, will you?"
It was not many minutes before the starched and rigid Peckham came into the room. She looked prim and uncompromising, and took up a stand before the table. Yes, she perfectly remembered what had happened yesterday morning. She had been packing for Mrs. Halliday when Mrs. Halliday came in to take her hat off.