A Murder Is Announced

Mrs Easterbrook wouldn’t take off her fur coat and sat down close to her husband. Her face, usually pretty and rather vapid, was like a little pinched weasel face. Edmund was in one of his furious moods and scowled at everybody. Mrs Swettenham made what was evidently a great effort, and which resulted in a kind of parody of herself.

‘It’s awful-isn’t it?’ she said conversationally. ‘Everything, I mean. And really the less one says, the better. Because one doesn’t knowwho next-like the Plague. Dear Miss Blacklock, don’t you think you ought to have a little brandy? Just half a wineglass even? I always think there’s nothing like brandy-such a wonderful stimulant. I-it seems so terrible of us-forcing our way in here like this, but Inspector Craddockmade us come. And it seems to terrible-she hasn’t been found, you know. That poor old thing from the Vicarage, I mean. Bunch Harmon is nearly frantic. Nobody knowswhere she went instead of going home. She didn’t come to us. I’ve not even seen her today. And I should know if shehad come to the house because I was in the drawing-room-at the back, you know, and Edmund was in his study writing-and that’s at the front-so if she’d come either way weshould have seen. And oh, I do hope and pray that nothing has happened to that dear sweet old thing-all her faculties still andeverything.’

‘Mother,’ said Edmund in a voice of acute suffering, ‘can’t you shut up?’

‘I’m sure, dear, I don’t want to say aword,’ said Mrs Swettenham, and sat down on the sofa by Julia.

Inspector Craddock stood near the door. Facing him, almost in a row, were the three women. Julia and Mrs Swettenham on the sofa. Mrs Easterbrook on the arm of her husband’s chair. He had not brought about this arrangement, but it suited him very well.

Miss Blacklock and Miss Hinchcliffe were crouching over the fire. Edmund stood near them. Phillipa was far back in the shadows.

Craddock began without preamble.

‘You all know that Miss Murgatroyd’s been killed,’ he began. ‘We’ve reason to believe that the person who killed her was a woman. And for certain other reasons we can narrow it down still more. I’m about to ask certain ladies here to account for what they were doing between the hours of four and four-twenty this afternoon. I have already had an account of her movements from-from the young lady who has been calling herself Miss Simmons. I will ask her to repeat that statement. At the same time, Miss Simmons, I must caution you that you need not answer if you think your answers may incriminate you, and anything you say will be taken down by Constable Edwards and may be used as evidence in court.’

‘You have to say that, don’t you?’ said Julia. She was rather pale, but composed. ‘I repeat that between four and four-thirty I was walking along the field leading down to the brook by Compton Farm. I came back to the road by that field with three poplars in it. I didn’t meet anyone as far as I can remember. I did not go near Boulders.’

‘Mrs Swettenham?’

Edmund said, ‘Are you cautioning all of us?’

The Inspector turned to him.

‘No. At the moment only Miss Simmons. I have no reason to believe that any other statement made will be incriminating, but anyone, of course, is entitled to have a solicitor present and to refuse to answer questions unless heis present.’

‘Oh, but that would be very silly and a complete waste of time,’ cried Mrs Swettenham. ‘I’m sure I can tell you at once exactly what I was doing. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Shall I begin now?’

‘Yes, please, Mrs Swettenham.’

‘Now, let me see.’ Mrs Swettenham closed her eyes, opened them again. ‘Of course I had nothingat all to do with killing Miss Murgatroyd. I’m sureeverybody here knowsthat. But I’m a woman of the world, I know quite well that the police have to ask all the most unnecessary questions and write the answers down very carefully, because it’s all for what they call “the record”. That’s it, isn’t it?’ Mrs Swettenham flashed the question at the diligent Constable Edwards, and added graciously, ‘I’m not going too fast for you, I hope?’

Constable Edwards, a good shorthand writer, but with little socialsavoir faire, turned red to the ears and replied:

‘It’s quite all right, madam. Well, perhaps alittle slower would be better.’

Mrs Swettenham resumed her discourse with emphatic pauses where she considered a comma or a full stop might be appropriate.