“Doctor’s tool, isn’t it, sir? Have you got any theory about it?” Reggie shook his head. “There’s the girl who gave the alarm: she’s a nurse in the hospital, I’m told.”
“I don’t know the girl,” said Reggie. “You’d better see what you make of the room. I shall be downstairs.”
In the big hall the decorations and the Christmas tree with its ungiven presents glowed to emptiness and silence. Joan Amber came forward to meet him. He did not speak to her. He continued to stare at the ungiven presents on the Christmas tree. “What do you want to do?” she said at last.
“This is the end of a perfect day,” said Mr. Fortune. “Poor kiddies.”
“The matron packed them all off to their dormitories.”
Mr. Fortune laughed. “Just as well to rub it in, isn’t it?”
Miss Amber did not answer him for a moment. “Do you know, you look rather terrible?” she said, and indeed his normally plump, fresh-coloured, cheery face had a certain ferocity.
“I feel like a fool, Joan. Where is everybody?”
“She sent everybody away too.”
“She would. Great organizer. No brain. My only aunt! A woman’s murdered and every stranger who was in the place is hustled off before the police get to work. This isn’t a crime, it’s a nightmare.”