‘Will you give me her Christian name?’

‘Mavis.’

Miss Silver wrote it down.

‘And now, Mrs. Eversley, will you continue. What makes you think that Mr. William Eversley’s return would inconvenience the firm?’

‘He inherited the controlling interest – sixty per cent of the shares.’

‘Yes. What happened to them when his death was presumed?’

‘Half of them were divided between Cyril and Brett – half of them came to me in trust. There was also government stock.’

‘Who were the trustees?’

‘Cyril, Brett, and Admiral Holden, who is a very old friend of the family.’

‘And have you been getting your dividends?’

‘There was a hold-up in the autumn. It left me rather short of money. Admiral Holden had been ill for nearly two years – nobody thought he was going to live. Then he made a marvellous recovery. When I heard I wrote to him about my affairs, and he came bumbling up to town to see the Eversleys. That was about ten days ago. The first thing that happened was that my dividends were paid in – the whole lot of them. Cyril asked me to lunch with Brett and Bunny Holden at his club. Everyone was charming. Afterwards Bunny and I went off in a taxi together, and he told me he thought there had been a bit of a mix-up, but it would be all right now. He told me he gathered that Mr. Davies had muddled the accounts – that he’d been getting past his work for some time, and that his death had left things in a state of confusion.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘That was the elderly clerk who encountered Mr. William E versley after his visit to the firm on the sixth of December?’

‘Yes. I was very much upset. I didn’t know that he was dead. After I wrote and told him not to say anything about seeing William I had no communication with him. I didn’t want anyone to know where I was or what I was doing. But he never got my letter.’

Miss Silver looked at her searchingly.

‘How do you know that, Mrs. Eversley?’

‘It wouldn’t be delivered until the evening of the seventh. He never got it. I ought to have told him not to tell anyone when he rang up, but I didn’t think about it. I didn’t think about anything except William.’

‘When did Mr. Davies die?’

‘On the seventh of December. Bunny didn’t know, but as soon as I got in I rang up Eversleys. I got Miss Jones. She said oh, yes, Mr. Davies was dead. She wasn’t very forthcoming, but I pressed her. I wanted to know what had happened, and when he died. When she saw I was going on until I got what I wanted she went away, and came back and said that the last day Mr. Davies was at the office would be the seventh of December. He was knocked down in the street on the way – home and died without recovering consciousness.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘How extremely shocking!’

Katharine made an impulsive movement.

‘Miss Silver – all these accidents – I can’t believe in them! Can you? On the sixth of December William goes to Eversleys and Mr. Davies recognizes him. On the seventh Mr. Davies goes to the office as usual. We don’t know what he said or whom he said it to – Cyril – Brett – Miss Jones. On his way home he is knocked down and killed. At half-past ten that night Mr. Tattlecombe is “struck down” outside the Toy Bazaar. With the light the way it was, it would be easy to mistake him for William. Then William is attacked twice. And now there’s this business of the wheel on his car. I just can’t believe in a run of accidents like that.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘Very succinct – very clearly put. But the last three can hardly be described as accidents. Do you want my advice?’

‘That is why I am here.’

The small nondescript-coloured eyes contemplated her gravely.

‘Tell your husband what you have just been telling me.’

Katharine caught her breath.

‘I know – I must. I wanted just a little longer. I thought – I hoped – he would remember.’

Miss Silver said, ‘How long have you been married?’

Katharine’s colour rose, pure and bright.

‘Last Saturday – ’

Miss Silver stopped her.

‘I do not allude to any ceremony you may have gone through then. I think you married Mr. William Eversley in ’39, did you not?’

Katharine said, ‘July. We had a month, and then one or two short leaves. He was missing in ’42. How did you know?’

Miss Silver smiled.

‘There were a number of indications. That party at the Luxe at which Frank Abbott remembers seeing your husband – he spoke of a girl in a gold dress. That was you, was it not?’

‘Yes. We got engaged that evening.’

‘A cousin of Frank Abbott’s was there – a Miss Mildred Abbott and her fiancé. She is now Mrs. Darcy. She has just come home from the East. She remembers the party, and Bill as they all seemed to call him, and you in your gold dress. She couldn’t remember his surname or your names, but she said an aunt of hers wrote afterwards and told her she had been at your wedding. She said she had given you a tea-set.’

Katharine nodded.

‘Old Mrs. Willoughby Abbott. It was a lovely set. And all that crowd called him Bill. I never did.’

‘When you spoke of Frank Abbott I knew that you must at least have been in contact with friends of his.’

‘Yes – it was a slip. I never really met him, but I knew a good many of his friends and relations. There was a lot of chaff and talk about his being a policeman. His grandmother, Lady Evelyn Abbott, was supposed to have cut him out of her will, but the young ones all thought it was a joke. Miss Silver, you say I ought to tell William, but don’t you see how difficult it’s going to be if the Eversleys just dig their toes in and say they don’t recognize him? They might, you know.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘From that point of view the second marriage ceremony was unwise.’

Katharine gave a shaky little laugh.

‘William wouldn’t have felt married without it. And think how shocked Mr. Tattlecombe would have been.’

Miss Silver looked grave.

‘I quite see your point of view. But you have taken a good deal of responsibility, Mrs. Eversley. It was, in fact, this readiness to take responsibility on his behalf which convinced me that your marriage was no new thing.’

Katharine said slowly, ‘I thought when we were married he would remember that we had been married before. If he got his memory back it would be all quite easy. There’s just one more thing I can do. He has a recurrent dream – he’s had it all these years. It’s about a house in a village street – three steps up and into a panelled hall, and a staircase going up on the right, with the newel-posts carved with the four Evangelists – a lion and an ox at the bottom, and an eagle and a man at the top. I thought if I could take him down there and into the house, he might remember.’

‘It is a real house, with associations for him?’

‘Yes. It belonged to his grandmother. We used to go there a lot when we were children. She left it to William, and he left it to me. It’s at Ledstow. It’s called the Cedar House. We spent our honeymoon there. Mr. Tattlecombe has given us Saturday afternoon off. I want to take William down there this weekend and see if he remembers.’ She stopped, her eyes shining, her look intent. ‘I think it’s a real chance. He wouldn’t have that dream about it if it didn’t mean something to him – something special. It’s as if it was the one sensitive spot. I’ve got a sort of feeling that his memory might come back to him there.’

Miss Silver said, ‘Yes. These cases of loss of memory are strange. Sometimes a mental or a physical shock will bring the lost faculty back. Your plan is, I think, worth trying. But pray do not be too much disappointed if it does not succeed. In that case I must urge you most strongly to lose no more time. Your husband has a right to decide for himself what is best for him to do. His own family and his own firm are involved. You cannot continue to take the sole responsibility.’