Part 9 (1/2)

*Did you see him write it?'

*Yes, and I saw him put it in the envelope and write on that and hand it to his mother-in-law.'

*And how was her demeanour?'

*Very upset, sobbing, at one point she fainted.'

*How did she fall?' I asked.

*Downwards, of course.' The inspector rolled his eyes.

*No, I meant...'

*I had her down as much more self-contained than that,' Sidney Grice broke in, and Inspector Pound snorted.

*She had just lost her daughter and been told that her son-in-law was accused of the murder.'

*But she took his side. Did she not?'

*Most definitely. She told him not to worry. She would get the best help available.'

*And here I am,' Sidney Grice said as the door swung slowly open.

14.

The Hounds of h.e.l.l The man was seated at a table, head on hand and eyes closed. He was under a tall grilled window, side on to us, in a shabby grey suit with a collarless open-necked s.h.i.+rt. A portly constable stood behind him.

*h.e.l.lo, Ashby,' Inspector Pound said, and the man opened his eyes. *You have a visitor.'

The prisoner looked at us and seemed to light up a little. He half stood but the constable put a hand on his shoulder and pressed him down again.

*Mr Grice,' the prisoner said. *I recognize you from your photograph in the newspapers. You must have received my letter. Thank you so much for coming.'

*I am Miss Middleton,' I said. *I am here to help.'

His face lit in a brief strained smile. *I am much in need of that.'

It would have been difficult to guess his age for his face was darkened by stubble and paled by distress, but there was still something boyish about it. Perhaps it was the dark yellow ma.s.s of hair falling into a long fringe over his forehead or the eyes so big and brown, though slightly reddened now. Had I not known differently, I would have judged him to be in his late twenties.

*Fetch two chairs,' Inspector Pound told the constable.

*And a cup of tea would be welcome,' Sidney Grice called after him, and then stood surveying the prisoner for a while.

*Let him stand for a moment,' he said to the inspector. *It is not right to shake hands with a seated man.'

William Ashby rose stiffly to his feet.

*You have a strong grip and a direct gaze,' my guardian told him, *but I have seen many a villain with as honest a face.'

*The world knows me for a decent man.' William Ashby's voice was firm and clear. *I don't think you will find anyone to disagree with that.'

Sidney Grice paused. *Why did you write that letter?'

William Ashby looked puzzled. *To ask for your help, Mr Grice.'

My guardian scoffed. *You will have to do better than that.'

*I cannot do better than the truth.'

*What are you?' Sidney Grice surveyed him head to toe. *Five foot six?'

*I should say so.'

*And are you left- or right-handed?'

*Left.'

*In everything?'

*Pretty well.'

*So you write with your left hand?'

*Yes.'

Somebody was whistling as they walked along the corridor.

*And you hold a knife with your left? When you are eating, I mean.'

*Yes. Always.'

The whistling got louder, then faded.

*Please be seated.'

Sidney Grice put his satchel on the floor, hung his coat carefully over the back of a chair and sat to face the prisoner, placing his notebook on the table between them.

*How old are you, Mr Ashby?'

*Thirty-five in July.'

Sidney Grice wrote something in his notebook, but crossed it out immediately.

*If you wish to celebrate that birthday you had better answer truthfully.'

*You may rely upon that, sir.' He glanced at me.