But at that moment everyone save me was looking toward the door leading to the Hall of the Moth, which had opened sufficiently to admit first the head and then the rest of Blenkinson. Again the look of transcendence appeared natural, even casual on his person. Spiritual transcendence, that is, for bodily he was in great bedragglement, as if he had wallowed in the rain just before it ended.
“Mr. Salt, I beg to report that the weapon ’as been found. I ’ave left it where I and Finlay discovered it, almost—”
I think the feeling of elation that visited me was shared by nearly everyone in the conservatory. I saw faces brightening. But Salt’s did not.
The Superintendent gave one leap toward Blenkinson, cutting him dead off in the midst of his glory.
“Mr. Blenkinson, your admirable researches—invaluable assistance—indispensable services—fill me with alarm. Please be more discreet. Inform me in private of your discoveries, and let me be the judge whether they are to be shared by these ladies and gentlemen. For, mind you, technically, every person here is under suspicion—and that goes for you, too, Mr. Blenkinson. You may, or may not, be revealin’ something valuable to the murderer himself.”
Under this withering sardonic fire the smug efficiency of the butler had fallen ingloriously. “I’m—‘gulp’—very sorry, sir, but—‘gulp’—the fact is, I was so helated—‘gulp’—that I—”
“Quite,” agreed Salt; “quite. And now, Mr. Blenkinson, if you please, lead the way to this weapon, whatever it is.” He thrust the butler before him through the door into the Hall, and looked back upon the threshold. “Kindly do not let your curiosity to see Mr. Blenkinson’s find tempt you to follow us, any of you. Thank you.” The door closed.
The weapon found! Tongues were wagging anew. I thought of the difference between Salt’s previous assurance to us that the solution was to be sought among the many missing persons, and his recent proclamation that no one in the House was exempt as a possible murderer. Then in the midst of the babble came a still voice close behind me. I turned; Doctor Aire was leaning over the piano, his abbreviated form easily sheltering underneath the lifted cover.
“Mr. Bannerlee, how about a stroll up the Vale, now it promises fair weather? Mr. Salt has admonished us to go in pairs.”
“Up the Vale—now? You must be emulating Noah himself, Doctor! The waters haven’t yet descended from Ararat.”