He paused and scanned the carpet.
“Mr. Jeekes tells me, my lady,” he went on presently, “that Mr. Parrish had been suffering from neurasthenia and a weak heart brought on by too much smoking. It appears that he had consulted, within the last two months, two leading specialists of Harley Street about his health. One of these gentlemen, Sir Winterton Maire, ordered him to knock off all work and all smoking for at least three months. He will give evidence to this effect at the inquest. Mr. Parrish disregarded these orders as he was wishful to put through his scheme for Hornaway’s before taking a rest. Mr. Jeekes can prove that. In these circumstances, my lady....”
“Well?”
Lady Margaret, in her black crêpe de chine dress, setting off the silvery whiteness of her hair, was a calm, unemotional figure as she sat in her lacquer chair.
“Well?” she asked again.
“Well,” said the detective, “the verdict will be one of ‘Suicide whilst of unsound mind,’ and in my opinion the medical evidence will be sufficient to bring that in. There will not be occasion, I fancy, my lady, to probe any farther into the motives of Mr. Parrish’s action....”
“And are you personally satisfied”—Mary’s voice broke in clear and unimpassioned—“are you personally satisfied, Mr. Manderton, that Mr. Parrish shot himself?”
The detective cast an appealing glance at the tips of his well-burnished boots.
“Yes, Miss, I think I may say I am....”
“And what about the evidence of Bude, who said he heard voices in the library....”