“You see, Frank, two people could talk like this, and if I were so incautious as to lean forward, you would not, I believe, find it difficult to strangle me.”

He bent lower to examine the ground.

“There is no sign that anyone has been here.”

“Would you expect there to be? The cement of the drive comes right up to the wall, and in this heat there is no dew. The nights are as dry as the days.”

He stared.

“But the window was shut.”

“I think you will find that you can close it from where you are.”

“From the outside? There were no fingerprints.”

“Do you suppose that the person who planned this murder would be so careless as to leave any?”

He came back into the house and joined her in the dining-room. When he had shut the door he said,

“You speak of the person who planned this murder. You maintain that it was not Miss Anning. I have given you proof that it could not have been Cardozo. If Marie was killed in the way that you suggest by someone who reached in at the bottom of that window and took her by the throat, the person who did it must have had very strong hands. I suppose you are not suggesting that Pippa Maybury could have done it?”

“Oh, no, I am not suggesting that.”

“James Hardwick? Is that what is in your mind?”

“I would prefer not to say. There is a point we have not touched on, and it is, I think, important. Marie was a strong, active girl. When she felt hands at her throat she would have fought desperately to release herself. Has Miss Anning any scratches or bruises about the wrists or arms?”

He gave her rather an odd glance.

“No, she hasn’t. Do you know of anyone who has?”

“No, Frank. But if, as I believe, the murder was very carefully planned, this would have been guarded against. Gloves would have been worn, or the wrists and arms padded in some way.”

He nodded.

“A man’s coat sleeves would protect him. But if, as you say, the whole thing was planned, a woman could guard against being scratched or bruised-Darsie Anning could guard against it.”

She said mildly but firmly,

“I do not believe that it was Miss Anning.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Can you produce an alternative? There is a good deal of prima facie evidence-motive and opportunity-bad blood between her and Field-the old business of his jilting her. And Colt tells me there was quite a lot of talk about that. She was away for months and came back very much changed. Local gossip believed the worst-and sometimes local gossip gets hold of the right end of the stick. Marie may have got something there. She disliked the Annings and would have enjoyed tormenting them, especially if it meant money in her pocket. On the psychological side it all adds up, you know. And I must say that if I had to pick a probable murderer out of our set of suspects I think I would go for Darsie Anning. She is an embittered, frustrated creature and obviously strung up very nearly to breaking point.”

Miss Silver said in a tone of deep compassion,

“She has been very unhappy. If you arrest her, what will happen to Mrs. Anning?”

“Are there any relatives? If not, I suppose a nursing home.”

She coughed.

“That is why you sent for me, is it not? And if you proceed with this arrest, I will do what I can. But if you could see your way to staving it off, even for a few hours-”

“We can’t risk another death.”

“No, I realize that. But pray consider, if Miss Anning is arrested, her business here will be ruined, and the effect upon her mother may be very serious indeed. If she is guilty, all this goes for nothing, but if she is innocent, irreparable harm will have been done, and for the want of perhaps only a few hours’ delay.”

He looked at her intently.

“Do you seriously believe that you can produce the murderer in those few hours?”

“I believe evidence can be produced which will point to someone else as the guilty person.”

He said,

“Well, you’ve never let me down yet. You can have until tomorrow. I’m not in charge, you know, only assisting- Cardozo is really my pigeon-but I think I can stall the local people off until then. Do you want to see either of the Annings?”

“No, Frank, I think not. I believe I should return to Cliff Edge. Later on I shall appreciate the opportunity, but at the moment I think I should go back.”

Darsie Anning never knew just how near she had been to arrest. She had been interrogated endlessly. But everything did at last come to an end, and now they had all gone-the police surgeon, the fingerprint man, the photographer, the two Inspectors, and the Superintendent, a big blunt person who came in after the others and went away before they did. Now they were all gone, except for Sid Palmer whom she had known since he was a shy little boy hanging on to his mother’s skirts when she brought their washing home. She was a very good laundress, but nobody did that kind of private work now. Sid must be twentyfive. He was long and lanky, and as shy as ever. He turned the colour of a beetroot when she spoke to him, and never got beyond “Yes, miss” and “No, miss” in his mumbled replies.

Presently he was giving her a hand in the kitchen. Not that there was so much to do. A murder in the house had sent the old ladies scuttling like rabbits. The big house held no one but the Annings and Sid Palmer. Mrs. Anning was fretful, and wanted to know what was going on. The information that some of the boarders were leaving did very little to soothe her.

“And how are we going to pay the bills if everybody goes? Is there anybody else coming in? You don’t tell me that. You don’t tell me anything-you never do!”

As Darsie went out of the room, it came to her with surprise that she could not remember her mother having ever made any reference before as to how the bills were to be paid. Not since her illness, she thought. She had sat in her room with her unfinished embroidery in her lap, or walked a little in the garden, on the cliff, or down into the town, and never spoken of anything except the merest surface trivialities-“It is very hot today, Darsie,” or, “It is a little colder.” “There are not so many visitors as there used to be.” It was as if all this turmoil of thought about her was breaking in upon the dead secluded place in which she had lived so long.

Miss Silver went back to Cliff Edge, and found, as she had expected, that the news of the murder was there before her. Since her avowed errand to Sea View had been a visit to Mrs. Anning, it was not altogether easy to answer Esther Field’s concerned enquiries, or to take a natural share in the general conversation. She avoided prevarication, and maintained a discreet reserve by offering the simple fact that it had been thought wiser to put off telling Mrs. Anning of Marie Bonnet’s death until the police had completed their investigations.

“Miss Anning has naturally had a great deal on her hands, and since Mrs. Anning does not as a rule leave her room except occasionally to take a turn in the cool of the day, it has been quite possible to keep the tragedy from her for the present. I will go down there again later on, when I may perhaps be of use.”

Lady Castleton observed that according to all accounts Mrs. Anning was very little likely to be disturbed by the death of a maid in the house.

“Even in the old days she was always inclined to be wrapped up in herself and her family. Didn’t you think so, Esther?”

“She was very fond of them,” said Esther Field in a troubled voice.

Adela Castleton sketched a slight but perfectly graceful shrug.

“One of the women to whom the domestic hearth is not only the centre but the boundary of their interests,” she said, and walked towards the door. “I think I shall go down on to the beach. The tide won’t be right for bathing until later on, but the water will be delicious then. Are you coming, Esther?”