Country homes -- England -- Fiction; Detective and mystery stories; Police -- England -- Fiction
When she reached the top without having found anything to answer her,
she stopped: she would not believe her first thought while any other
solution could be found. She leant against the balustrade and looked
down into the hall. Suddenly it crossed her mind that it was possible
that Sir Roger might have been struck from there: she wondered why it
had not occurred to her before and then realized that as long as it
was assumed that the cigarette box had killed him any such possibility
was far too remote. But now when another weapon was in question the
situation was different. As she stood, though, just at the head of the
stairs, she saw that Sir Roger would have had his back towards her, if
he had been turned towards the hall; and he had been, she was sure,
for, if he had been coming up the stairs and the body moved, there
must have been some indications, and there were none. She accordingly
went along a few steps until she reached a bracket which stood against
and level with the top of the balusters, and could see most of the
hall.
Here she was almost directly above the spot at which the body had been
found, and she stood still, her thoughts concentrated on the one
problem directly before her mind, why had Philip come upstairs
immediately after the murder? She gazed out over the hall and tried to
find a reason. Her eyes travelled slowly over all she could see, from
the doors of the hall and the dining-room across the hall to the
tragic place almost immediately below her. No thought, no reason came
to her. She leant forward to discover how far underneath her towards
the drawing-room door she could see and found that it was invisible.
She was turning away with a gesture of impatience when her glance fell
on a little bronze statuette of a dancing girl about nine inches high
and fixed into a small ebony pedestal which stood on the bracket level
with the top of the balusters. It had stood there for years and she
had passed it a thousand times, but there was something about its pose
now which instantly attracted her attention, keyed as that was to the
uttermost. The right arm, which ordinarily was raised with the elbow
bent at right angles to the body and the forearm curving in an easy,
graceful manner outwards, was now bent forwards and rather across the
body in a way that huddled the shoulder awkwardly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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