Chapter 17 Chapter Seventeen

Sir Henry looked curiously at Inspector Grange. He said slowly, "I'm not sure I understand you, Mr. Badger." "It is very simple, Sir Henry. I beg you to examine your collection of small arms. I believe they are all sorted and indexed?" "Naturally. But I have recognized the revolver as part of my collection." "It's not that simple, Sir Henry." Grange paused for a moment.His instinct would never allow him to divulge anything, but in this particular instance he felt pressured.Sir Henry was an important man, and he would obey his request without question, but he would also ask why.The sheriff decided to tell him why:

He said calmly: "Dr. Crystal was not killed by the revolver you identified this morning." Sir Henry raised his eyebrows. "Incredible!" he said. Grange felt vaguely comforted, and the unbelievable was his own feeling.He thanked Sir Henry for saying that, and was equally grateful that he had said nothing else.This is the most progress they can make at this point.This thing is incredible - and makes no sense beyond that. Sir Henry asked: "Do you have reason to think that the weapon that fired the fatal shot is in my collection?" "Not at all. But I have to make sure, if I can tell, it's not your revolver."

Sir Henry nodded approvingly. "I agree with you. We'll get to work, then, and it'll take a while." He opened the table and took out a leather-bound volume. When he opened it, he repeated: "The inspection will take a while—" Grange's attention was caught by something in his voice, and he looked up sharply.Sir Henry's shoulders dropped a little - he seemed suddenly older and more tired. Sergeant Grange frowned. He thought, "It's a pity I don't know what these people here are made of." "what--" Grange paced the room in circles, his eyes on the clock, thirty minutes—twenty minutes—since Sir Henry had said, "It will take a little while."

Grange said sharply: "What's the matter, sir?" "Missing a Smith-Wesson 0.38. It's in a brown leather holster on the bottom shelf of this drawer." "Ah!" The Sheriff tried to keep his voice calm, but he was excited. "So sir, do you remember when was the last time you saw it?" Sir Henry reflected on a brief moment: "It's hard to be sure, Mr. Sheriff. The last time I opened this drawer was a week ago, and I think—I'm almost sure—that if the revolver had been lost by then, I should have noticed the empty space, but I'm not sure I saw it."

Sheriff Grange nodded. "Thank you, sir, I understand very well. Oh, I must get on with things." He left the room, a busy, purposeful man. Sir Henry stood motionless for a moment after the Sheriff had gone, then walked slowly out through the French windows onto the terrace.His wife was busy with a gardening basket and a pair of gardening gloves.She is trimming a bush with a pair of secateurs. She waved happily at him. "What's the sheriff trying to do? I hope he'll stop harassing the servants. You know, Henry, they don't like it. They can't think of it as fun or novelty like we do."

"Is that how we see it?" His tone caught her attention.She smiled sweetly at him. "How tired you look, Henry. You must be deeply worrying about all this?" "Murder is worrying, Lucy." Mrs. Angkatell thought for a moment, absently snipped off some branches, and then her face became clouded again. "Oh my God - this pruning knife is such a headache, it's so amazing - people just can't stop pruning and always cut more than they intended. What are you talking about - about murder warrants What people worry about? But really, Henry, I never understood why. I mean, if a person had to die, it could be from cancer, or tuberculosis, in one of those horrible nursing homes, or a stroke—horrible , a person's face all turned sideways - a person may be shot or stabbed or strangled, but in the end it all ends the same. I mean, a person dies! Out of it all. And all The worries are over. And the relatives are involved in all the troubles—the quarrels over money, whether to wear black—and who's going to get Aunt Selina's desk—things like that!"

Sir Henry sat beside the stone wall.He said: "It's going to be more frustrating than we think, Lucy." "Oh dear, we have to live with it. When this is all over, we can go away and go somewhere. Let's stop worrying about our present troubles and look forward to the future! I'm really happy about it. I've been thinking about whether it would be nice to go to Ainswick for Christmas - or wait until Easter. What do you think?" "We have plenty of time to make plans for Christmas." "Yeah, but I like to see things in my head. Easter, maybe..." Lucy smiled happily. "She'll recover from it by then, of course."

"Who?" Sir Henry was startled. Mrs Angkatell said calmly: "Henrietta. I think if they're going to have their wedding in December--December next year, I mean, then we can go and stay there for Christmas. I've been thinking, Henry. -" "I hope you're not thinking, my dear. You're thinking too much." "You know that barn? It could be converted into a perfect sculpture room. Henrietta needs a sculpture room. She has real talent, you know. Edward, I'm sure, will be great for her Proud. Two boys and a girl would be nice - or two boys and two girls."

"Lucy—Lucy! You think too much." "But, my dear," said Mrs Angkatell, opening her large, beautiful eyes. "Edward is not going to marry anyone but Henrietta. He is very, very stubborn. Quite like my father in that, he has a mind of his own! So of course Henrietta has to marry He—now that John Crystal is no longer an obstacle. He is indeed the greatest misfortune that can befall her." "Poor man!" "Why? Oh, you mean because he died? Oh, oh, everyone dies at some point. I've never been anxious about dying..." He looked at her strangely.

"I always thought you liked Crystal's, Lucy?" "I found him interesting and charming. But I don't think anyone should be taken too seriously." Gently, with a smiling face, Mrs. Angkatell continued to trim without any anxiety.