He dwelt for some time on the implications of this second question. The affaire Duke had its possibilities. He went on considering them.

Coming back into the lounge, Miss Silver took particular note of the occupants. All the Taverner cousins were there, but Mr. Castell was not. She took a chair and got out her knitting. Little Josephine’s dress was now a complete skirt and bodice, and she was half way down the left sleeve. She had chosen a chair beside Florence Duke. After a moment or two she remarked,

“It’s for my niece, Mrs. Burkett’s little girl. She had three boys already, so they were of course delighted when Josephine was born. Such a pretty child, and so good.”

Florence Duke had been staring in front of her. She shifted her gaze now and focussed it upon the bright blue dress.

“I like kids-I’d have liked to have some. But you never know your luck-I expect it’s as well I didn’t. He wasn’t any sort of father to have in the house with children, and he wouldn’t have changed. Bad all through, Luke was. There aren’t many you can say that about, but it’s true about Luke.”

Miss Silver went on knitting. She said very kindly,

“Marriage can be a most unhappy state. It is very hard on the woman when it turns out that way.”

There was a sombre spark in the big dark eyes.

“I’ll say it is-” She made a heavy pause, and then brought out more words in the slow, deliberate way she had. “The worst is you can’t get rid of it. There was a gentleman I used to know when I was at the George-partner in a firm of solicitors-I came across him again after Luke went off. He wanted me to see about a divorce, but I wouldn’t. ‘I’ve had enough of being married,’ I told him, ‘and I won’t want to do it again. And as far as it goes for him, I’m not letting him loose to marry some other poor girl.’ He said, ‘You’ll think better of it, Floss,’ but I said, ‘No,’ and I haven’t.” She gave herself a sort of jerk. “I don’t know why I’m talking to you like this.”

Miss Silver’s needles clicked.

“If you keep everything to yourself, things come to weigh too heavily,” she said.

Florence Duke nodded.

“That’s right-like a ton weight, till you don’t feel you can get your breath. Seems you’ve got to get some of it off your chest.”

There was a short silence. Then the slow speech began again.

“There’s things you can’t forget-you’d like to, but you can’t- they come back on you.” She gave another of those jerks and got up. “I’m talking too much. I don’t know what’s got into me. What do you say we have some more coffee? I’ll take your cup and see what’s left.”

She went across to the coffee-table, and as she did so, Geoffrey Taverner came strolling over with his cup in his hand. He took the chair upon Miss Silver’s other side and said in his pleasantest voice,

“May I come and talk to you for a little? I should like to thank you for being so kind to my sister.”

Miss Silver would have been justified in showing some surprise. As she had informed Frank Abbott, Mr. Taverner’s manner had not hitherto commended itself, or him. It had, indeed, conveyed the opinion that she was a negligible dowdy person and a meddler. Now quite suddenly all was changed-she was being addressed with courtesy and deference. She replied with rather more than her usual sobriety,

“You need not thank me, Mr. Taverner.”

He was looking at her in an earnest way.

“Oh, but I do. Mildred is so very highly strung. She has not, if I may speak frankly-well, she has not a very stable mentality.”

Miss Silver said, “Dear me!”

Geoffrey became explanatory.

“You mustn’t think-I didn’t mean to imply-I’m afraid what I said might give you a wrong impression. I really didn’t intend to convey more than that she is highly strung and not well fitted to undergo a strain. To be in the house where a murder is committed is naturally a shock. I have noticed that you have a calming and reassuring effect upon my sister, and I want you to know that I am grateful.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“Thank you, Mr. Taverner.”

He finished the coffee in his cup and set it down.

“Mildred has always been nervous,” he said. “Fortunately the friend who lives with her is a cheerful, sensible woman. I may say that I was not at all anxious for this invitation to be accepted, but she has always been fanciful about the old place-from a child she would make up stories and act them-and when I advised her to stay quietly at home she became so excited that I thought it would really be best to let her come. In fact I do not think that I could have prevented her. Like all nervous people she can be extremely obstinate.” He heaved an exasperated sigh. “It is a combination which can be very difficult to deal with.”

Miss Silver agreed with him.

He sighed again in a resigned manner.

“Oh, well, I suppose we shall all be allowed to go home tomorrow as soon as the inquest is over. Do you happen to know whether that is so?”

Miss Silver turned the bright blue knitting in her lap.

“I really do not know, but I should think there would be no objection. Neither you nor Miss Taverner are in a position to do more than corroborate what other witnesses have said.”

He gazed at her earnestly.

“My sister is not likely to be called as a witness, Inspector Crisp tells me, but he said she had better attend. If you would add to your kindness by sitting with her-” He met her thoughtful gaze with a quick attractive smile. For a moment his rather priggish manner gave way sufficiently to permit some genuine feeling to appear. “If I may say so, she has come to-well, rely on you.”

Miss Silver said, “I shall be pleased to do what I can. But there is surely no need for Miss Taverner to be nervous.”

Geoffrey shook his head.

“No-no-of course not. But a person of her temperament doesn’t need a reason for being nervous, and you undoubtedly have a calming effect. I just thought that I would like to express my gratitude, and to ask whether you would sit with her tomorrow. It will relieve her mind very much if I can tell her that you will do so.”

“By all means, Mr. Taverner.”

She watched him go over to his sister and take the vacant seat beside her. Knitting as she did in the continental manner, it was possible for her to make rapid progress with little Josephine’s left sleeve whilst continuing her observation of what was going on in the room. She saw Mildred Taverner look uneasily at her brother as he approached and then brighten up and send a glance in her own direction, after which only an occasional remark appeared to pass between them. Miss Taverner, she considered, would have been the better for a piece of good plain knitting to occupy her hands. It was, of course, indicative of her nervous state that she seemed unable to keep them still. They plucked at the stuff of her dress, they twitched, they jerked, they fidgeted with those unbecoming bright blue beads, with the old-fashioned gold chain. They were not still for a moment.

After some half dozen remarks at widely spaced intervals Geoffrey got up and drifted over to the fire, where he presently engaged in conversation with Jacob Taverner, who was doing a cross-word puzzle. In a short time they appeared to be doing it together.

As Florence Duke came back with fresh hot coffee, Mildred got up and came to join them, fluttering and uncertain.

“Would you mind… Oh, that is very kind of you! It makes one feel so nervous sitting alone. Not you of course, because you are not like that. Oh, no-no coffee, thanks. I’m afraid it might keep me awake.” She addressed Florence Duke. “You don’t find it does?”

Florence Duke looked at her as if she were seeing something else. She said with a sort of slow finality,

“It isn’t coffee that would keep me awake.”