Susan was only half listening. Her mind and all her energies were set upon the idea which had come to her as she walked towards the Vicarage. She leaned forward now, her cheeks pale, her eyes very bright.

“Miss Silver-if you would help him-if you only would-”

“My dear-”

“You do take cases, don’t you? You took the Ivory Dagger case. Ray told me about it.”

“My services were retained by Lady Dryden. Her niece was engaged to Sir Herbert Whitall who had been murdered. But I do not come into any case to procure a result which will be agreeable to the person who employs me. I can have but one object-the discovery of the truth. I cannot undertake to prove any person innocent-or guilty.”

Susan looked at her very straight.

“If you can find out the truth, it will prove that Edward is innocent.”

Miss Silver returned the look with a kind one.

“He has a very good friend,” she said. And then, “I would be very much interested to see Mr. Edward Random. There is something which I think he should know. If he then wishes me to come into the case, I will do so.”

Susan felt a little as if a cold shower had descended upon her. It had not occurred to her that she was assuming a responsibility for Edward, and that she had not the least shadow of a right to do so. She wasn’t his sister, or his cousin, or his fiancée, or anything at all but Susan Wayne who used to know him when she was a schoolgirl, and who happened just now to be staying with his stepmother. It came home to her with horrid force that Edward would think she was interfering in his affairs. Like Clarice- A flood of burning colour rose to the roots of her fair hair. She caught her breath and said,

“I don’t know. He might think-he won’t talk about things -ever-I haven’t got any right-”

She encountered a glance of bright intelligence.

“You have not his authority for coming to me?”

Susan shook her head.

“I never thought about it. I didn’t know you were Miss Maud Silver. It was only when Mrs. Alexander asked me to bring you that letter and I saw your full name on the envelope-”

“I see. Then perhaps it would be better if I were to ring him up. I have been intending to do so, but was not sure if he would be at home. He is there now?”

“Oh, yes. But-you will remember that this is a party line, won’t you? Anyone might be listening in.”

Miss Silver smiled.

“I shall not forget.” She laid her knitting aside and went over to Ruth Ball’s writing-table. “So convenient to have an extension in here, and it saves disturbing the Vicar. Mrs. Ball has really made the house most comfortable in every way. She will not, I am sure, object to my using her telephone.”

Susan sat with her hands clasped together in her lap. She had the most overpowering sense of dread. Suppose Edward had gone out. Suppose the police had already come and arrested him. Suppose he was so frightfully angry that he never spoke to her again… Her feet got colder and colder. Just when she couldn’t have borne it another moment she heard Miss Silver say,

“Is that Mr. Edward Random?”

There was a pause while a disembodied voice sounded on the line. Susan could not hear what it said. It gave her a giddy feeling. Edward’s voice scratching and scrabbling to get in, and she couldn’t hear what he said… She came back to Miss Silver saying,

“I wonder whether you could come up to the Vicarage for a little. I have something to tell you which I think you might consider to be of interest. Miss Susan Wayne is here.”

The voice said, “Has anything happened?” with so much vigour that the words reached Susan. Edward was certainly angry. She wondered if it was possibly because he thought that something might have happened to her. She heard Miss Silver make some suitable reply. Then the receiver was put back and the knitting resumed. Over the clicking needles Miss Silver said, “He will come.”

Edward was certainly angry. His dark look passed Susan by as if she no longer existed. Miss Silver encountered it with a faint smile and the reflection that men really had very little sense. If you are in danger of being arrested for a murder, it is extremely unwise to go about looking as if nothing would give you greater pleasure than to commit another at any moment. She said in a kind, grave voice,

“Won’t you sit down? I need not detain you for more than a very short time. I happen to have some information which I think you should possess. It will be more comfortable if you will take a seat.”

He did so with reluctance. There was a feeling of being shut in-an echo from his interview with the police. Other echoes, not faint but harsh and bitterly insistent.

He said abruptly, “I don’t know-” and found himself quite gently but firmly interrupted.

“That, Mr. Random, is the trouble. There were things you should have known before, and which you should certainly know now. Miss Wayne can leave us if you would prefer it.”

“Thank you-it doesn’t matter.”

Susan didn’t matter. It made no difference to Edward whether she came or went. She was outside the place which he kept bolted and barred. It doesn’t matter who goes by on the outside of your house. If she had had a scrap of proper pride she would have got up and walked out of the room and slammed the door. She was too cold to move-in front of Ruth Ball’s comfortable, rosy fire she was too cold. And she had lost all interest in her pride.

Miss Silver was saying,

“I do not know if you are aware of my profession. I am a private enquiry agent… No, Mr. Random, I am not here in my professional capacity, nor have I willingly intruded into your affairs. It just happened that Miss Dean knew of my occupation, and that she made me a very curious confidence.”

“When?” The word shot out like a stone from a catapult.

“In town. Two days before her death. I should like to tell you what she said to me.”

He listened with a set face whilst she told him of her interview with Clarice Dean. When she had finished he let the silence settle. Miss Silver made no attempt to break it. She had knitted all through her recital, and she continued to do so now.

When he spoke, it was to say sharply and suddenly,

“Do the police know about this?”

She inclined her head.

“Inspector Abbott is a very old friend. After seeing Miss Dean’s death in the papers I had some conversation with him on the subject. Neither he nor I was then aware that Scotland Yard would be called in. I merely felt that I could not keep the matter entirely to myself.”

His eyes met hers with a look of singular directness.

“Of course this is why they have not arrested me-yet. They have quite a case, as Abbott has probably told you-I could see that. What I couldn’t make out was why they didn’t get on with it. They think I wrote the note which brought Clarice down to the splash. It was typed on the old machine up at the Church Room. I was up there on the Friday morning, and it was just the kind of note I might have written. I left Mr. Barr’s house at a quarter past nine that evening, and I didn’t turn up at the Vicarage to say I had found Clarice drowned in the splash until ten o’clock, which leaves half an hour to be accounted for”

“And how do you account for it, Mr. Random?”

He gave quite a natural short laugh.

“Oh, I was watching a fox up in the woods. As one couldn’t possibly expect a policeman to believe that, I could not imagine why they did not arrest me. But of course this story of yours would stick in their throats. If that is what Clarice was going to say to me, I was the last person on earth to want her dead. The motive must have been a bit dicky anyway, but on the top of this story it would be sheer, stark lunacy.”

Susan listened in an amazement that was to deepen. The black look of anger was quite gone. He was talking with the quick zest which she had remembered and missed. The armour-plating which had warded off any touch upon his affairs had been discarded.