“Just walking through the rooms and looking about. They came about a quarter of an hour ago, and when I let them in they said they were police officers and that they had come to search the premises.”
“Did they say anything about a warrant?”
“Oh, yes, Sir. I forgot about that. One of them showed me a paper and said it was a search warrant. So of course I couldn’t do anything. And then they started going through the house with their note-books like auctioneers getting ready for a sale.”
“I will go up and see them,” said I; “and meanwhile you had better let Mrs. Monkhouse know. Where did you leave them?”
“In the large back bedroom on the first floor,” she replied. “I think it was Mr. Monkhouse’s.”
On this I began quickly to ascend the stairs, struggling to control a feeling of resentment which, though natural enough, I knew to be quite unreasonable. Making my way direct to the dead man’s room, I entered and found two tall men standing before an open cupboard. They turned on hearing me enter and the elder of them drew a large wallet from his pocket.
“Mr. Mayfield, I think, Sir,” said he. “I am Detective Superintendent Miller and this is Detective-Sergeant Cope. Here is my card and this is the search warrant, if you wish to see it.”
I glanced at the document and returning it to him asked: “Wouldn’t it have been more in order if you had waited to show the warrant to Mrs. Monkhouse before beginning your search?”
“That is what we have done,” he replied, suavely. “We have disturbed nothing yet. We have just been making a preliminary inspection. Of course,” he continued, “I understand how unpleasant this search is for Mrs. Monkhouse and the rest of your friends, but you, Sir, as a lawyer will realize the position. That poor gentleman was poisoned with arsenic in this house. Somebody in this house had arsenic in his or her possession and we have got to see if any traces of it are left. After all, you know, Sir, we are acting in the interests of everybody but the murderer.”
This was so obviously true that it left me nothing to say. Nor was there any opportunity, for, as the superintendent concluded, Barbara entered the room. I looked at her a little anxiously as I briefly explained the situation. But there was no occasion. Pale and sombre of face, she was nevertheless perfectly calm and self-possessed and greeted the two officers without a trace of resentment; indeed, when the superintendent was disposed to be apologetic, she cut him short by exclaiming energetically: “But, surely, who should be more anxious to assist you than I? It is true that I find it incredible that this horrible crime could have been perpetrated by any member of my household. But it was perpetrated by somebody. And if, either here or elsewhere, I can help you in any way to drag that wretch out into the light of day, I am at your service, no matter who the criminal may be. Do you wish any one to attend you in your search?”