“Before we go any further, Mrs. Maybury, will you listen very carefully to what I am going to say? There is something you are anxious to hide-something that you hope your husband need not know. I do not ask you what it is. It might very easily be something that I do not wish to know. If it concerns the death of Alan Field, I think that you should see a solicitor without delay. You have made a very serious admission in the presence of a number of witnesses, and it will not be possible to hush it up.”

Pippa looked startled.

“But it hasn’t got anything to do with Alan, except that he was being a beast about it. I wouldn’t ever have gone to meet him if he hadn’t said he would tell Bill. I would have done anything in the world to stop him doing that. Because, you see, Bill is good, and he thinks I am, and if he found out I wasn’t it would do something to him, and nothing would ever be the same again. So what did my pearls matter, or anything!”

From these obscure and fragmentary remarks Miss Silver began to perceive the emergence of a pattern. As if her admission that she had been on the scene of the murder was not enough, Mrs. Maybury appeared to be bent upon supplying herself with a motive.

“Mr. Field was blackmailing you?”

“Oh, yes!”

Miss Silver was knitting again, but her eyes never left Pippa’s face.

“That would give you a motive for the murder.”

Pippa said, “Oh!” Her mouth remained a little open red circle, but under the lipstick all the natural colour had drained away. She leaned forward with a jerk. It was like seeing a marionette move.

“But you don’t think I did it? I wouldn’t have come to you if I had! You can’t possibly think-why, he was dead when I got there! That was what was so horrid. It was all dark, and I didn’t want to use my torch, because of anyone seeing me. I could just make out the beach hut-the door was open. I stumbled over something-and came down. It was Alan-he was dead. There was such a lot of blood. My dress was all wet-and my hands. That’s how the stain came on the stairs. It was a long dress, and it was all wet.”

Miss Silver said in her quiet voice,

“What did you do after that?”

Pippa told her.

“Carmona helped me. She came out of her room and saw me coming up the stairs. I told her about finding Alan, and we burned my dress in the kitchen fire.”

“That was a very foolish and a very wrong thing to do.”

“Carmona said we ought to call the police, but I told her I would rather kill myself. Because of Bill. You do see that, don’t you? I was meeting Alan in that beach hut in the middle of the night, and they were either going to think he was my lover, or I should have to tell them he was blackmailing me about someone else, and I should have to give evidence, and Bill would know. I simply couldn’t let her call the police.”

Miss Silver shook her head.

“You should have done so. A prolonged course of deception is extremely difficult to sustain. You were ill-advised to embark upon it. We have now to consider what is best for you to do. If you wish me to be of any assistance to you, you must make up your mind to be perfectly frank.”

“You are going to help me?”

Miss Silver coughed.

“I will do my best to discover the truth. I cannot go into any case with the intention of helping this or that person. I can have but one motive, the bringing of the truth to light. If you are sure that that will help you, I shall be willing to take the case.”

Pippa stared.

“But that is just what I want you to do! Somebody killed Alan, and if you can find out who it was, the police won’t bother about me any more-will they?”

Miss Silver made no reply to this. She began, instead, to ask a great many questions, to all of which Pippa replied in a perfectly open and natural manner. She hadn’t met anyone on her way to the beach hut or on her way back-not to say meet. But just when she got to the top of the path she had had a kind of frightening feeling. No, she didn’t know what she meant by that-it was just a feeling. She had come running up the steep path and she was trying to get her breath. She wouldn’t have heard if there was anyone there. All she wanted was to get back into the house-and all the more when she had that horrid feeling that there might be someone looking at her and listening.

Miss Silver put that away to think about. She said,

“Mrs. Maybury-you say when you put your torch on in the hut you saw that Alan Field had been stabbed.”

“Oh, yes, I did.”

“Will you tell me just how he was lying?”

Pippa shuddered.

“On his face-one arm flung out.”

“How did you know who it was?”

“His hair. The light shone on it.”

“And what made you sure he had been stabbed?”

“The knife-it was sticking in his back.”

“Did you touch it?”

“Oh, no!”

“You are quite sure about that?”

“Oh, no-I wouldn’t!”

Miss Silver said gravely,

“No weapon was found by the police. Are you really quite sure that you saw a knife, and that you did not touch it or take it away?”

“But of course I’m sure! I keep telling you so! The knife was there, sticking up under his shoulder, and I wouldn’t have touched it for anything-anything in the world!”

After a slight pause Miss Silver said,

“If you saw this knife you can describe it. What was it like?”

Pippa had no hesitation.

“It was Mrs. Field’s paper-knife. Her husband gave it to her, and she was very fond of it-one of those sort of dagger things with a lot of gilt on the handle and some little coloured stones. It was quite sharp. She had it down on the beach that day, because she was by way of reading one of old Mr. Hardwick’s books-sort of memoirs-and he couldn’t have really bothered to read it himself, because the leaves had never been cut.”

“Mrs. Maybury, will you think very carefully. Where was that dagger kept?”

Pippa didn’t need any time to think at all.

“Whenever I saw it, it was sticking in the book. Esther just took it out to show it to me, and then she stuck it back again.”

“What was the title of the book?”

This did appear to call for consideration.

“Well, I don’t know-Pages From the Lives of Great Victorians, or something like that-too dreary.”

“And was it brought up to the house on Wednesday night?”

Pippa’s lips parted on a sharp breath.

“Oh-no-it wasn’t-”

“What makes you think so?”

“Because I saw it-down there-when I put on my torch. I saw Alan-and the blood-and the knife in his back. And the book-was lying there-on the floor-close to his hand-as if he had pulled it down.”

In the morning-room at Cliff Edge, so restful, so delightfully cool, Miss Silver sat knitting. She had chosen one of those low armless chairs produced by the Victorian age in which needlework was considered a woman’s most necessary accomplishment. Miss Silver’s own needles were of a composition then undreamed of, but she found the same comfort as the ladies of that generation in the low seat, the dumpy back, and the absence of restraining arms. She had a chair of this type in her own flat, the legacy of an aunt, and she valued it highly. The heat outside was at its most extreme, but in this north room the temperature was really very pleasant, very pleasant indeed.

She was not alone. For the time being at any rate, police interviews with members of the household were over. Inspector Colt had departed. But Inspector Abbott stood with his back to the carved overmantel and addressed himself to his “revered preceptress.”

“You are actually staying in the house?”

“Mrs. Hardwick has most kindly invited me to do so.”

He exclaimed, “Well, I don’t know how you pull it off!” His tone was half affectionate, half exasperated.

Miss Silver permitted herself a slight reproving cough.