“Poor Crawford!” Stebbins snorted. “Haven’t you eyes in your head, Belknap? Why, I’ve had that dress-suited fellow spotted from the minute I came in here. I’ll have him on toast in a jiffy. A little rough stuff and he’ll—”
“Loss of the Diary?” Berry asked, having caught up on his notes, and ignoring, as did Belknap, the fact that Stebbins had spoken. “What do you mean?”
“What I said. It disappeared during the fracas. Not that it matters much. I can retail you enough of what was said of Crawford to see him convicted hands down, if that’s the count we want to get him on. Somehow, I think it isn’t.”
“We’ll see. And after you all withdrew—what then?”
“Nothing, my dear Berry. I was a night-hawk; more so than usual, though at my best I’m up and about most of the night. Rotten sleeper. Always was. Possibly the most telling bit of evidence I picked up during my sleepless walking was what I’m convinced was a glimpse of the departed Dorn. From an upper window I saw a figure I’d swear was his run along below the terrace wall and into the shrubbery at the north corner. It moved with extreme rapidity and a lightness of footing that made me almost uncertain I saw more than a shadow. But for a twig that snapped as he vanished I would have let him pass as shadow. I went immediately down, and around by the opposite side, with intention of circumventing him, but, though I remained concealed in a niche of the north wing for at least half an hour, he never materialized.”
“So that was that. Interesting, but not particularly helpful. Who else did you cross footsteps with during the night?”
“With several. Every one had dragged anchor and was adrift. Miss Video spent a few moments in Whittaker’s room. I believe he found her there when he went up. And she seems to have enticed him to return the visit. For Mr. Prentice, the young man in negligee, spent most of the night asleep in Whittaker’s room waiting for the absent to return. He may have had designs on the Judge.”
“Or the Judge on Miss Video? What about Crawford?”
“Never saw him. What became of him I haven’t a notion. Probably was the one person to go quietly to bed, having a wife to see that he got tucked in. I bumped into Miss Lacey in the library, quite late. Said she was after a bracer, and looking for her fiancé. She’s engaged to young Prentice. And she’s Whittaker’s niece, as you doubtless know. I saw her to her room, as she was in a state of nerves. And, soon after, I decided the tenseness of the situation had eased, for the time being at least, and turned my back on it. But I’d hardly entered my room when Miss Mdevani came on a visit. She was quite incoherent, but before I could begin to make head or tail of what about, we picked up the first death broadcast. Mrs. Crawford had found the Colonel. Says she was looking for her husband, which leads one to believe he wasn’t in bed after all, as do the clothes he’s wearing. Or else she’s trying to cover her tracks.”
“You don’t think your Miss Mdevani was—fresh from the kill, so to speak? Her manner might suggest it.”