They had been hard on Neil Crawford—unnecessarily so, Julian thought. Though even if someone had been ahead of his assassins in the case of Whittaker, as Crawford insisted, he supposed the law could do something about the mere fact of intended murder. And Crawford, as well as his wife, had reasons for wishing Romany and the Diary disposed of. When it came right down to it any one of them might have killed Whittaker. But how thankful one was, Julian drew a deep breath, to have it done for him. He even wondered if there mightn’t now be a chance for some of them to wiggle out scot-free—with the past still a closed book. One thing about Belknap he had to admit was jolly decent—and that was his not stressing what must have been as obvious to him as to the others, perhaps more obvious: namely, that Whittaker’s intention had been to make a clean sweep of his guests. Not only was Belknap being discreet with regard to the content of the Diary, but he was actually soft-pedaling it. No doubt wholly in consideration of Nadia Mdevani as usual! But in this instance he was benefiting others than Nadia. And Julian for one was deeply grateful.
Again, who had killed whom? Who had chased whom around the walls of what? However you looked at it any one could have killed every other one. And quite possibly victim could have killed victim—perhaps two-thirds of the murderers were among the murdered. Which could lead to conjuring in terms: victor-victim, or victim-victor. Blake may have killed Romany, Romany Blake. Even the doctor was unable to tell which had died first—the times had apparently so nearly coincided. Or Whittaker could have killed both. The one proven fact was that neither Blake nor Romany could have killed Whittaker. It was hoped there would be one more fact settled with the matching of markings on the bullet and pistol. _The_ bullet. Julian was still bothered by the question of his two shots. One must have been an echo.
And _had_ Nadia Mdevani fired her own weapon? She had been found in the library—its only occupant. But she gave the appearance of not having stirred for hours. Perfect acting. But it would take superhuman agility to have cleared the wall-space and become rooted to the couch before he had sprung in from the terrace outside. And why had she left her gun lying around? Perhaps she thought nothing would be discovered before she returned in quiet to dispose of it. No, that wouldn’t do: she herself had spotted the holes. The margin between being innocently honest and too honest because of guilt is so slight it would take a wiser and more practiced analyst than Julian considered himself to be to gauge it. Here again he had hope of Berry. And it was clear Berry was not particularly inclined to Nadia’s guilt. He seemed to have other fish to fry. What fish?