Marie Bonnet was in two minds. One had to make the best bargain for oneself, naturally. If one neglected to do so, one was a fool and had no one to blame but oneself. On the other hand it is sometimes extremely difficult when two bargains present themselves to decide on which will suit one best. As far as Cardozo went she knew pretty well where she was. He would have to dance to her tune, or he would find himself in a very uncomfortable place. She had only to waver, to weep, to say to the police yes it was true they were together, but it was also true that she had dropped asleep for a little there on the grass. She could not say for how long. Perhaps there would have been time for Cardozo to slip down to the beach and return again. She had only to say that and he would be lucky if they did not arrest him for the murder. No, he must give her what she asked, but the question was just how much could she ask? He had got the paper he wanted-the paper which he swore had been stolen from his brother by Alan Field. In that moment of triumph and terror when he stood up from searching the body with the wallet in his hand he had not been able to contain himself. He had told her it was a fortune for both of them and the proof that it was Alan who had murdered Felipe Cardozo. He was, in effect, in so great a transport of emotion that she had had her work cut out to get him away before anyone came. But this paper which he had recovered, and the fortune which it was to bring him, they were at the moment very much in the air. Before the one could produce the other, José must go to South America -that he had been obliged to confess. And once he was a few thousand miles away… Contemplating her chances of getting anything out of a José on the other side of the Atlantic, she thought very little of them.

To come down to hard facts-what could she get from him here and now? Perhaps fifty pounds-perhaps a hundred. He would need all the money he could raise if he was to get hold of the fortune. A hundred pounds was not enough. What else could she get out of him? Marriage perhaps. But suppose he did not get hold of the fortune after all…She would have to think very seriously before she took a step like that.

She would have to think very carefully about the other bargain which presented itself. She had not taken any steps in the matter as yet. It required to be handled with the greatest delicacy, and she had needed time to consider the matter. In the beginning it had seemed to her that there was a choice to be made, and that it would be a hard one. Now it came to her that there was, after all, no need of any choice. She would get what she could from José, and from the other as well. Faced with such evidence as she could produce, there could be no refusal.

She had been walking slowly along the hot street, stopping to look in at a shop window here and there, remaining apparently entranced in front of a display of beach-suits. Now she made her way to the call-box at the corner.

Her conversation was a short one. She had to wait whilst the person for whom she asked came to the telephone, after which there were very few words. She said,

“I saw you on Wednesday night. I can tell you where you were and what you were doing. I have not told anyone yet, but my conscience is troubling me.”

To this there was no reply at all. With an impatient jerk of her shoulder Marie Bonnet said,

“It will be better if we meet.”

This time there was a single word, spoken low. The word was “Yes.”

Marie said, “Where?” And then, quickly and before there could be any answer, “Upon the cliff or on the beach I do not go! From the house I do not go! It must be there!”

There was a little silence that seemed long. Then the voice said,

“Why not?”

The appointment was made.

And where do you think that gets us?” said Inspector Abbott.

After a couple of hours at Sea View, Inspector Colt opined that he was damned if he knew.

Frank nodded.

“Somewhere-anywhere-nowhere-you pay your money and you take your choice. But better hold off the Maybury girl. I don’t think she did it, you know.”

Colt looked glum. He considered that they had had a very promising case against Mrs. Maybury.

“I expect nine juries out of ten would say she did.”

“Oh, juries-we haven’t got as far as that yet. Suspects- that’s what we’re dealing with at the moment. Baa, baa, blacksheep, have you any wool? Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full. In other words, have we a bagful of suspects or haven’t we? And too many of them spoil the broth quite as fatally as too few. Just take a look at them! There’s Cardozo, who could have done it on his head if Marie is lying about his alibi-and if ever I came across a natural born liar, it is Mlle Bonnet. There’s Pippa Maybury, who has an assignation with Field and comes back from it dripping blood all over Cliff Edge. And there’s Mrs. Anning, who sticks to it that she always said he would be punished and he has been punished, and who certainly saw him after he had been stabbed.”

“You think she really saw him with the knife in his back?”

“I don’t see what else you’re to make of what she said to Miss Silver. Field went off to keep his appointment, or an earlier one, and she followed him. She rambles a lot, but I think that’s clear enough. Darsie wouldn’t let her see him, and she wanted to tell him how wicked he was. She may have knifed him herself by way of bringing the punishment home, or she may have seen somebody else knife him.”

“The somebody else could have been Miss Anning.”

“In that case it would be her daughter whom she followed, and not Field. Yes, I’m inclined to think that is the more likely way of it. She sees Field go out, and she sees Darsie follow him, so she follows Darsie all the way to the hut. There is a quarrel, and she sees him stabbed. But I don’t see how anyone is going to prove it. What a rambling old woman may have said to Miss Silver isn’t evidence. And as to putting her in the box-well, I ask you!”

Inspector Colt was understood to agree that Mrs. Anning would hardly make a reliable witness. “And as far as the daughter is concerned-well, I should say she would stick to her story.”

“Which is just what she produced to Miss Silver. Her mother couldn’t sleep. She went out into the garden for a breath of air, and Darsie heard her, followed her, and brought her back. Neither of them left the garden or went out on the cliff, let alone down the steep path to the beach. Her ‘My mother is an invalid, Inspector,’ was quite effective. Also the matter-of-fact manner in which she explained her mother’s resentment- ‘You see, I was once engaged to Alan Field, and my mother blamed him when it was broken off. As a matter of fact it came to an end by mutual consent, and for the simple reason that neither of us had any money.’ And then all that piece about there being no reason for any resentment, but that Mrs. Anning had a severe illness about that time and it had all got muddled up in her mind. Quite a plausible explanation, you know, Colt.”

“Show me something in this case that isn’t plausible!” said Inspector Colt bitterly.

Miss Silver was devoting what remained of the day to the art of conversation. Mrs. Field had joined her on the beach after Frank Abbott left her, and appeared to derive a good deal of relief and comfort from talking about her husband and stepson.

“In some ways I think they were very much alike,” she said. “I don’t mean in the wrong things that Alan did-you won’t misunderstand me about that, will you? I mean in their dispositions. They both liked things to be beautiful and pleasant. In Alan’s case I think it led him into doing wrong. He had not his father’s artistic gifts, but he had the artistic temperament, and of course that does make people unpractical and careless about money. That is why I did not think it right to lend him any. And then he could not bear to say no. Pen couldn’t bear to either-my husband, you know. It was rather awkward sometimes, because women really were very silly about him. He was as good-looking as Alan, and so gifted. And he didn’t like having to snub them, so it was sometimes just a little awkward. That was what upset me so much when Alan spoke of having his father’s letters published.”