“Naturally.” Alec sighed. “Vincent, your injury must be examined. Can you make it upstairs?”
“I don’t think so,” Vincent said in a failing voice.
“We’ll take a look at once, right here.” Geraldine’s no-nonsense manner reduced them all to schoolchildren. She advanced on Vincent, who couldn’t repress an instinct to cower slightly. Holding out her hand to Alec, she said, “You have a clean handkerchief?”
He handed over a large white linen square. “I’ll help Vincent take off his jacket.”
“Unhurt side first,” Geraldine directed.
They bent over their reluctant patient, Laurette hovering with little cries of distress.
Frank Crowley came in, his face lighting with interest as he observed the scene. Behind him came Ernest.
“What happened?” Frank asked Daisy.
“Vincent’s hurt.”
“Badly?”
“I don’t know.” She turned to Ernest. “You’d better bring water and a couple of towels, and brandy. Sticking plaster, bandages, lint, I don’t know.…”
“There’s a slash in your jacket,” said Alec, “a clean cut. Must have been made by a pretty sharp blade.”
“How lucky that you turned quickly, Vincent!” Laurette’s English improved as her distress calmed.
“Very little blood on your shirt,” Geraldine assured him. “We can lengthen the slit, or cut the shirt off you, or just take it off if it’s not too painful.”
“Take it off carefully,” said Laurette, the thrifty Frenchwoman. “I shall wash and mend it.”
“Nonsense. One of the maids can do it, and we’ll replace both shirt and jacket as soon as possible.”
Alec, now with Frank’s assistance, eased Vincent out of his shirt.
“It’s barely a scratch.” Frank was a trifle contemptuous. “What happened?”
“Someone jumped out of the bush and attacked him,” Laurette snapped. “He suffers from the shock. I suffer from the shock. You are not sympathetic.” She stared at him suspiciously. “Where were you?”
“Playing billiards against myself.”
Lowecroft came in with a decanter of brandy, followed by Ernest, his arms laden with first-aid supplies. Alec and Frank moved back to let Geraldine and Laurette minister to the sufferer.
Alec had appropriated Vincent’s shirt and jacket. He handed them to Daisy. “Look after his clothes, will you, love? Don’t let anyone start laundering or mending. I must go and hunt for the weapon.” He raised his voice. “Ernest!”
“Yes, sir?” The footman joined them.
“Find me a torch, please. You’d better get one for yourself, too, and come and help me.”
“At once, sir.” Ernest’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Mr. Crowley was in the billiard room all right, sir, but there’s no knowing how long he’d been there before I saw him.” He hurried off.
“He’s willing enough—”
“Eager!” said Daisy.
“But I need Tom and Ernie.”
“Surely the Super will send them down now, after this.”
“I hope so. Daisy, I’d like to be sure Sam is with Martha.…”
“Right away, Chief. I’ll put Vincent’s clothes in our room and then pop in to see Martha.”
“You’d better take the papers as well.”
Coming in supporting Vincent, Alec had dumped the document case on a small table near the French windows. Frank had noticed it and stood contemplating the Worcester police insignia and CONFIDENTIAL stamp, eyebrows raised, hands in pockets, whistling softly, tunelessly, to himself.
“Excuse me,” said Daisy, “I have instructions to remove that.”
“Scotland Yard taking charge, eh? I must say it was a bit of a shock finding out we have a copper among us!”
Shock, rather than mere surprise, Daisy noted. But he smiled when he said it. She smiled in return and picked up the case. It was heavier than she expected.
“Let me carry that for you. I want to go up and make sure Ben hasn’t been attacked by a homicidal maniac. An incompetent one.”
Not being in the running to inherit Fairacres, Daisy had no qualms about her personal safety. She caught Alec’s eye and waved to him, so that Frank was aware that pinching the reports from her would immediately make him the focus of suspicion.
“I assume I’m a suspect,” he said as they crossed the hall.
“I’m afraid so.”
“I can’t say it wouldn’t be nice to have a rich stepson, or even just to have the kids off my hands without having to worry about them. But not nice enough to risk the gallows for.”