Martha gave Sam her hands and he hauled her out of her chair, undignified but effective. At six months, there wasn’t really a dignified way to get out of a seat.
In the couple’s wake, everyone straggled through the French window into the drawing room. Daisy glanced back and saw Vincent and Laurette coming up from the garden. Geraldine stopped to speak kindly to Laurette, suggesting she might like to lie down for a while before dinner.
“I believe I will,” said Laurette. “It is a great pity the English do not use tisanes. La camomille would be soothing to me now.”
“Camomile? I’ll ask Mrs. Warden, but wouldn’t mint do? It seems to help Martha.”
“Mint, no! Mint is not for the nerves.”
“I’ll send a maid with a hot-water bottle.”
Frank approached Daisy.
“I suppose I oughtn’t to go down to the Beetle this evening,” he said wistfully.
“Well, Raymond wasn’t a relative of yours, except in the widest sense, but he was a fellow guest.”
“Yes. Better not.” He sighed. “A quiet game of snooker? No money involved? No, I mustn’t drag Sam away from his wife.” He brightened as he spotted Vincent, at a loose end as Laurette went out. “Vincent, snooker?”
“All right,” said Vincent without enthusiasm.
Daisy had a vision of the two of them hitting each other over the head with the billiard cues. Not that Vincent could possibly have a motive for attacking Frank—unless in self-defence? Should she go with them? Or ought she to check up on the children’s whereabouts?
Seeing Ernest and a maid out on the terrace clearing up the tea things, she went out. “Does either of you know where Miss Belinda and the boys are?”
The maid curtsied. “I saw them in the nurseries a few minutes ago, madam. Miss Belinda was playing with the babies. Master Derek was teaching Bla—Master Benjamin, I mean, how to play Parcheesi.”
“Thanks.” It sounded as if they were safely settled for the present. “Ernest, Mr. Crowley and Mr. Vincent have gone to the billiard room. Would you go and offer them drinks, and pop in now and then to see that they have all they need?”
“Consider it done, madam,” said the footman, with a wink that Daisy hoped the maid hadn’t noticed.
She went back in just as Alec returned from taking the phone call. He came to meet her.
“Worcester super,” he answered her unspoken question. “He’s offered to send a motorcycle officer with the file on Raymond’s accident, including the initial medical exam. He wanted to know if it can wait till the pathologist’s report is also available. He’s doing the autopsy tomorrow morning.”
“What did you say?”
“That I can wait for an informal postmortem report but not until an official document has been typed up. Now for Sam.”
“Darling, can’t I—”
“No. Sam, I’d like a word with you if you don’t mind. We can use Lord Dalrymple’s study.”
“Sure thing.” Sam rose willingly, but Martha clung to him, looking frightened.
“I want to go with him!”
“It’s all right, sweetie. He’s not going to arrest me. Are you, Chief Inspector?”
“I have absolutely no cause to do so.”
“See?”
“Please, Alec! Let me go too.”
Daisy could see Alec swallowing a sigh. “All right, Martha. Come along.”
“And Daisy. Daisy, you’ll come, won’t you?”
This time Alec’s sigh was overt, and Daisy, though she tried not to look too triumphant, couldn’t hide her smile.
TWENTY-SIX
By the time Daisy, Alec, Sam, and Martha reached the study, Sam had reconsidered his initial willingness to cooperate.
“What’s going on?” he demanded, with a hint of belligerence.
“I wish I knew.”
“What the dev—deuce do you mean?”
“I mean I don’t understand the situation. Could you just take it on trust that I need details of your travels? If you’ll be so kind as to give me the information, then I’ll explain why I’m asking.”
“Go on, Sammy. Alec and Daisy have done so much for me, you can at least answer a few questions.”
He smiled and her and squeezed her hand. “All right, fire away.”
“I’m not going to ask about your adventures in America.”
Sam grinned. “Good.”
“When you made it back to Jamaica—When was that?”
“I couldn’t tell you the exact date. It was what you might call an informal return. They dropped me off at night in a small cove near Runaway Bay, on the north coast. I walked most of the way to Spanish Town. Picked up a few lifts, but outside Kingston there aren’t many motor vehicles, it’s mostly mules and donkeys, so it was no faster. Then I took the train from Spanish Town to Kingston. End of June, that’s the best I can do.”