Egg frowned mutinously.
“We can’t do that sort of thing,” she said. “Leave people out because we know them. We’ve got to be businesslike. Besides, I don’t know anything about Angela Sutcliffe. She’s just as likely to have done it as anyone else, so far as I can see—more likely. All actresses have pasts. I think, on the whole, she’s the most likely person.”
She gazed defiantly at Sir Charles. There was an answering spark in his eyes.
“In that case we mustn’t leave out Oliver Manders.”
“How could it be Oliver? He’d met Mr. Babbington ever so many times before.”
“He was at both places, and his arrival is a little—open to suspicion.”
“Very well,” said Egg. She paused, and then added: “In that case I’d better put down Mother and myself as well…That makes six suspects.”
“I don’t think—”
“We’ll do it properly, or not at all.” Her eyes flashed.
Mr. Satterthwaite made peace by offering refreshment. He rang for drinks.
Sir Charles strolled off into a far corner to admire a head of Negro sculpture. Egg came over to Mr. Satterthwaite and slipped a hand through his arm.
“Stupid of me to have lost my temper,” she murmured. “I am stupid—but why should the woman be excepted? Why is he so keen she should be? Oh, dear, why the devil am I so disgustingly jealous?”
Mr. Satterthwaite smiled and patted her hand.
“Jealousy never pays, my dear,” he said. “If you feel jealous, don’t show it. By the way, did you really think young Manders might be suspected?”
Egg grinned—a friendly childish grin.
“Of course not. I put that in so as not to alarm the man.” She turned her head. Sir Charles was still moodily studying Negro sculpture. “You know—I didn’t want him to think I really have a pash for Oliver—because I haven’t. How difficult everything is! He’s gone back now to his ‘Bless you, my children,’ attitude. I don’t want that at all.”
“Have patience,” counselled Mr. Satterthwaite. “Everything comes right in the end, you know.”
“I’m not patient,” said Egg. “I want to have things at once, or even quicker.”
Mr. Satterthwaite laughed, and Sir Charles turned and came towards them.
As they sipped their drinks, they arranged a plan of campaign. Sir Charles should return to Crow’s Nest, for which he had not yet found a purchaser. Egg and her mother would return to Rose Cottage rather sooner than they had meant to do. Mrs. Babbington was still living in Loomouth. They would get what information they could from her and then proceed to act upon it.
“We’ll succeed,” said Egg. “I know we’ll succeed.”
She leaned forward to Sir Charles, her eyes glowing. She held out her glass to touch his.
“Drink to our success,” she commanded.
Slowly, very slowly, his eyes fixed on hers, he raised his glass to his lips.
“To success,” he said, “and to the Future….”
THIRD ACT
DISCOVERY
One
MRS. BABBINGTON
Mrs. Babbington had moved into a small fisherman’s cottage not far from the harbour. She was expecting a sister home from Japan in about six months. Until her sister arrived she was making no plans for the future. The cottage chanced to be vacant, and she took it for six months. She felt too bewildered by her sudden loss to move away from Loomouth. Stephen Babbington had held the living of St. Petroch, Loomouth, for seventeen years. They had been, on the whole, seventeen happy and peaceful years, in spite of the sorrow occasioned by the death of her son Robin. Of her remaining children, Edward was in Ceylon, Lloyd was in South Africa, and Stephen was third officer on the Angolia. They wrote frequently and affectionately, but they could offer neither a home nor companionship to their mother.