Into this unhappy frame of mind there came like a catalyst a note from Nicholas Carey. It had been dropped in at the letter-box by Nicholas himself, after which he rang the bell and walked away without looking back or waiting for Mrs Ambler the daily parlourmaid to open the door. She brought the note to Jack Harrison in his study and told him she had just seen the back of the gentleman going down the drive – ‘He didn’t wait any time at all, just dropped it in and walked away.’

He opened the note and read what Nicholas had written.

Dear Jack,

I think I’m practically certain to be arrested today. It’s a stupid business, and I shouldn’t think it would come to anything, but there you are – an arrest is indicated, and I imagine that most people would vote for me as the likeliest suspect. I don’t know where they’ll put me, but you can come and see me if you like. You had better collect some dope as to who would be a good solicitor for this sort of thing. I don’t imagine that the old boy who settled up Uncle Oswald’s estate would make much hand of it. Sorry for the general upset and scandal.

Yours,

Nick

The confusion in Jack Harrison’s mind cleared. As long as there were several courses open you could turn first to one and then to another and consider following it. You could, and probably did, reject them all and just stand still and do nothing. But as he read Nick’s letter the uncertainties which had surrounded him like a fog thinned away and he could see quite clearly what he had to do. He couldn’t let Nick be arrested. Nobody in their family had ever been arrested as far as he knew. Nick was engaged to Althea Graham. They had been on the point of marrying. Althea was a nice girl and a good daughter, and she hadn’t had a fair deal. And then there was Emmy. If Nick was arrested it would hurt Emmy very much indeed. She was kind and good. She didn’t deserve to be hurt. He couldn’t allow Nick to be arrested. He put the note in his pocket, went into the hall, and considered whether he should put on a coat. No, the afternoon was a warm one, and there was no sign of rain.

He put on his hat, opened the front door, and went down the drive. If Nick expected to be arrested he would go and see Althea Graham first. It was quite probable that he would be there now. He didn’t want to butt in, but he couldn’t, no he really couldn’t let Nick be arrested.

THE FRONT DOOR of The Lodge having been opened to him by Miss Silver, Mr Harrison found himself rather at a loss as to what his next step should be. He went into the dining-room because Miss Silver seemed to expect him to go into the dining-room. In a vague kind of way he remembered hearing that Althea Graham had someone staying with her, and he supposed the lady who admitted him to be this someone, though he did not know her name. She relieved him of this part of his embarrassment by pronouncing it clearly and firmly, to which he responded by giving her his own and explaining his presence.

‘I have no wish to intrude, I do assure you of that, but Nicholas Carey is my cousin and I am very anxious to see him – very anxious indeed. I thought perhaps he might be here.’

Miss Silver inclined her head.

‘He is in the drawing-room with Miss Graham. I do not feel that they should be disturbed.’

Jack Harrison took hold of one of the dining-room chairs. He did not know how hard he was gripping it until afterwards, when he discovered with surprise that there was a red weal across his palm. At the time he did not feel it at all. He only felt a painful increase of the confusion and distress in his mind. He heard his own voice.

‘He is saying good-bye to her. I had a note from him. He expects to be arrested.’

‘Did he tell you that?’

‘Yes – he wrote me a note. He said he thought he was certain to be arrested. I can’t let that happen, can I?’

Miss Silver observed him with care. He was in a state of considerable distress, and he had something on his mind. She was too experienced to mistake the signs, and in fact Jack Harrison was past making any effort to conceal them. He said, straining at the words,

‘I didn’t want to have to say anything. You see, my wife comes into it – but I can’t let Nicholas be arrested. He hasn’t anything to do with it, so I can’t let them arrest him, can I?’

She said, ‘No, Mr Harrison,’ and looking past him, saw through the window the gate on Belview Road swing in. Frank Abbott and Detective Inspector Sharp came through it and began to walk up the flagged path towards the house. She said, ‘Just a moment, Mr Harrison,’ and went to let them in.

After one glance over his shoulder he stood where he was, bearing down upon the chair and watching the door. Miss Silver closed it behind her. He heard a murmur of voices and thought, ‘She is telling them what I said.’ These were the police officers who had come to his house yesterday. They had come to question Ella. He would have to tell them his story. Here. Now. It was too late to go back. Miss Silver was telling them what he had said. There was no going back. In a way it was a relief. He would tell them just what had happened and be done with it.

They were coming into the room now, the Scotland Yard man, and Inspector Sharp, and Miss Silver. Chairs were pulled out and they sat down. He sat down too. His hand and arm were numb. The Scotland Yard Inspector said,

‘Miss Silver tells us that you want to make a statement with regard to the murder of Mrs Graham. Is that correct?’

His own voice astonished him. It was louder than usual and at a higher pitch as he said,

‘You are going to arrest Nicholas Carey, aren’t you? He wrote and told me. I didn’t want to have to say anything, but I can’t let him be arrested. It wouldn’t be fair, because he really hadn’t anything to do with it at all.’

Frank Abbott said,

‘Just a moment, Mr Harrison. If this statement involves yourself, I had better warn you…’

Jack Harrison shook his head.

‘No – no – I hadn’t anything to do with it either. It’s just that my wife is involved – to a certain extent – and of course not in the murder. But…’ He broke off. ‘Perhaps I had better tell you what happened.’

Inspector Abbott said he thought it would be a very good plan, and Inspector Sharp got out a notebook. Jack Harrison waited until they were ready for him. Miss Silver, sitting at the end of the table, watched him. They all watched him. When he began to speak his voice had lost the high strained pitch, it was lower and more natural. He sat back in his chair, his right arm hanging stiffly. An earnest, conscientious person who had been much perplexed in mind and was now doing his best.

‘It was that Tuesday evening. We had been to a bridge party at the Reckitts’. We got back at about half past seven. When we had had our meal I went into my study – I generally do in the evening. I left the door ajar. I wanted to know if anyone came to the house, or if my wife went out. After the daily maids have gone there is no one in the house but ourselves.’

Frank Abbott said,

‘Mrs Harrison was expecting someone?’

‘She was meeting a friend. I didn’t know where they were meeting.’

‘What friend?’

‘A man called Worple – Fred Worple. My wife had been on the stage – she knew him then. He turned up here a week or two ago. He has relations in the town. He met my wife again, and they have been seeing a good deal of each other. I didn’t care for the friendship. Worple is a shady, flashy type, and I told my wife that it wouldn’t do her any good to be seen about with him. She was angry, and she said she would do what she liked.’

‘Yes, Mr Harrison?’

There was rather a long pause before Jack Harrison went on. He was looking at Mrs Graham’s polished dining-table, but what he saw was his own study table with the ink-stained blotter, and the telephone fixture on the right. He saw himself putting out a hand and lifting the receiver. He said,