Madden’s room adjoined his grandfather’s. It was very small, hardly larger than a cupboard. Everything in it was narrow. The bed was narrow. The bedside table was narrow. The chair was narrow. The table lamp was incredibly narrow. The Gothic window that overlooked the chapel was narrow. It felt like entering some modernist installation, Payne thought.
‘Don’t you get a little claustrophobic here? No dreams of premature burials at night?’
Madden shrugged. ‘It’s better than a prison cell.’
‘Have you been in a prison cell?’
‘Perhaps I have. What exactly would be the cause of death if one did get buried prematurely? Asphyxiation?’
‘You could be brain dead through oxygen starvation after only a few minutes,’ said Payne.
His eyes fixed on the pile of books that lay on Madden’s bedside table with some surprise. They were not the kind of books he would have associated with Madden, but then he had no idea what kind of books he would have associated with Madden. Madden was an enigma.
‘Do you like Charlotte Brontë, Madden?’
‘Not in the least. She was an unpleasant example of spinsterhood, a raving, craving maenad seeking self-immolation on the altar of her frustrated passions.’ Madden waved towards the narrow chair. ‘Take a pew.’
‘What about Austen?’
‘Under the mask of an impartial observer, Aunt Jane was nothing but a prying, sub-acid busybody in everyone’s flirtations.’ Madden had perched on the edge of his bed.
‘One wonders what a clever fellow like you is doing in service.’
‘I am not really in service. Never been. I am here at Grandpa’s behest.’
‘The Master tells me you were the last person to see Sir Seymour alive.’
‘That’s not strictly true.’
‘Oh?’ Payne looked at him.
‘I brought Sir Seymour his early morning tea. I drew his curtains. He asked me to run his bath, which I did. He then came up with a quotation.’
‘What kind of quotation?’
‘Amat avidus amores miros, miros carpit flores. I left the room soon after.’
‘But you returned for the ring?’
‘I did. Some quarter of an hour later I went back. The door to the bathroom was ajar. I thought I heard the sound of water splashing. I didn’t think anything of it. I went straight to the bedside table, took the ring from the china dish and I put it into my pocket. When I looked towards the bathroom again, I saw someone standing beside the bath. The man was wearing an orange habit and he was looking down at something in the bath. I couldn’t see the person’s face. The person had the habit hood up, which at once struck me as unusual. I also caught a glimpse of the person’s hands in black gloves. The gloves were dripping water.’
‘Sir Seymour’s head was held under water till he drowned. He must have put up a bit of struggle, which would account for the splashing sound you heard … The killer didn’t become aware of your presence?’
‘No.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I was standing beside the window. I quietly sneaked behind the window curtains. A good thing because the next moment the person came out of the bathroom. The front of the habit looked darker. It had been splashed with water.’
‘I see.’
This, Payne reflected, tallied with what Travis had told him earlier on. Travis too had seen the mysterious steward. Travis had thought that it was Madden.
‘The person quickly walked out of the room. I waited a couple of moments, then came out from behind the curtains and went to the bathroom. Sir Seymour was lying in his bath. His eyes were open. He was dead.’
‘You checked his pulse?’
‘I did. I checked his wrist and his neck. As Grandpa informed you, I have had medical training. I don’t make mistakes about things like that. There was no pulse.’
‘You didn’t raise the alarm?’
‘No. I had Sir Seymour’s ring in my pocket. I feared I might get myself in trouble. So I left and went to Grandpa’s room. I knew that Travis would discover Sir Seymour’s body when he brought his breakfast to him at half-past eight. Which he did.’
There was a pause, then suddenly Major Payne laughed. ‘Sorry! It’s just hit me that all along there was a witness to the murder!’
‘I didn’t witness the act of murder per se.’
‘You saw the killer’s face …’
For some inexplicable reason, Madden’s expression changed and for a moment it looked as though he was going to be sick. His hand went up to his upper lip, then it covered his mouth.
‘What’s the matter?’ Payne asked, concerned.
‘Nothing.’
Payne looked at him curiously. There was a pause. ‘Would you recognize the person if you saw him again?’
‘I would. Actually, it’s not a him. It is a her.’
‘Oh? A woman? You sure?’
Madden said slowly, ‘I know who the killer is.’
‘You do?’
‘It was Sir Seymour’s sister. Miss Bettina Tradescant.’