“Eily!”

Eily stamped her foot.

“I’m in the middle of getting lunch!”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Now, look here, John-”

“Eily-”

The foot stamped again.

“I’m not leaving Aunt Annie, and that’s flat!”

And with that Castell came round the screen, magnificent in dignity and control-no gesticulation, no spluttering rage. He was the respectable host, under his own respectable roof. It had been hard of achievement, but he had achieved it. Self-satisfaction exuded from every pore. He took a striking pose and pointed to the door.

“You will leave. At once. We do not desire your presence. We do not invite it. I will not serve you. If you were not the nephew of my wife Annie, I would have more to say. I control myself. I do not say it. I say only this-‘Go-and immediately!’ ”

John didn’t even look at him. He went up to Eily and took her hand.

“Come away with me, my dear. This is a bad house. Come away out of it.”

She jerked her hand from his. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but a host of little things held her back. Uncle- she’d always been afraid of him, she didn’t quite know why- lunch to serve-Aunt Annie and the washing-up- She jerked her hand away.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, John, get along out of here and let me get on with my work!”

He stood for a moment, and then turned and went out without another word. The minute he was gone Eily had that picture in her mind again, small and bright like something seen through a peephole-the road to Cliff and herself running down it. But this time John was there too, walking away ahead of her and never turning back, and run as she would she couldn’t catch up with him. She came back with a start to Castell’s hand on her shoulder.

“Come, come, come-get on with your work! You did that very well, but there’s no time to stand here dreaming.”

Jane Heron ran after John Higgins and came up with him by the baize door. Her breath hurried and her colour came and went, not because she had run that little way, but because she had a sense of urgency and she couldn’t find the right words. She caught at his sleeve, and he turned and looked at her with grave blue eyes. Under the gravity there was distress.

Jane knew right away that it was not for himself, but for Eily. She said,

“Don’t worry about her-I’m with her nearly all the time. Miss Silver asked me-”

“Why?”

“She said Eily had had a shock and had better not be left by herself. She slept with me last night. She told Miss Silver she wouldn’t, but she did after all, and I’ll get her to do it again.”

He said, “There’s a lot of badness in this house. It isn’t fit for her.”

Jane nodded.

“I’ll talk to her. She just doesn’t want to be rushed, and she’s fond of Cousin Annie. Don’t worry. I’ll see she’s all right.”

Miss Silver spent the greater part of the afternoon in the lounge teaching Mildred Taverner to knit. In reply to the complaint that she knew it was very stupid but she never could help dropping her stitches Miss Silver instructed her firmly that if the needles were held in the continental manner, it was practically impossible for this to happen. She was not a quick learner, and the effort involved so engaged her attention that she had none to spare for what her preceptress had previously described as unhealthy fancies, and was able to partake of her tea with a very good appetite.

The evening dusk closed down. After some windy days there was a light mist and a mild, still air. The tide was coming up and could be heard lapping against the cove behind the hotel. There was sand there between the rocks-quite a wide half-moon of it when the sea was out. In summer the bathing would be pleasant and safe.

Jeremy and Jane went out after tea and walked up and down watching the tide come in and the last light fade. Eily would be washing up the tea-things in the pantry with Annie Castell. It couldn’t be selfish to snatch half an hour for themselves.

It must have been just short of half past five when Miss Silver pushed the baize door and went along a rather dark passage to the kitchen. It was in her mind that she would like to talk to Annie Castell. Not about anything in particular, but just to talk to her and see what kind of a woman she was. There were a good many possibilities about Annie Castell. Even quite a short conversation might eliminate some of them. But when she came to the bright streak which showed the position of the kitchen door she knew that she would not be able to have her conversation with Annie. Fogarty Castell was there, and even the thick old door could not disguise the fact that he was angry. He was, in fact, shouting at the top of his voice.

Miss Silver took hold of the door-knob and turned it gently until the catch released itself, after which she drew in her hand until the door stood a finger’s breadth from the jamb. As a gentlewoman, eavesdropping was naturally repugnant, but as a detective she was prepared to engage in it without flinching. She now heard Castell shout,

“Leave me? You would leave me?”

A string of words in the French language followed.

Miss Silver had never heard any of them before, and she had no difficulty in concluding that in this case ignorance was scarcely to be deplored. She hoped that Annie Castell did not understand them either. But Castell’s voice, expression, and manner required no translating. An angry man who is swearing at his wife sounds very much the same in any language. Miss Silver could not see into the kitchen, but she could hear well enough. She could hear Annie Castell take a long breath and steady it when Castell stopped swearing, and she heard her say,

“I can’t stand anything more.”

Castell stamped his feet, first one and then the other.

“You will stand what I tell you to stand, and you will do what I tell you to do! Are you not my wife?”

She said,

“Not any more. I’ll cook the dinner tonight, and I’ll cook breakfast tomorrow, and then I’ll take Eily and go.”

“Go? Where will you go?”

“I can get a place-any day-at once.”

Castell roared at her suddenly-a French word culled from the Marseilles slums where he had played as a child. And then, like someone checked in a spring, his voice dropped to a horrid whisper.

“The door-who opened the door?”

Miss Silver did not wait for anyone to answer that question. She was light on her feet, and she could move very quickly indeed when she wanted to. She moved so quickly now that by the time Fogarty Castell looked out into the passage the faint lamplight showed it empty. She had not risked trying to reach the baize door, but had taken the cross passage and gone quickly through the office to the lounge. When presently the door opened and Castell looked in, she was making good progress with little Josephine’s knickers and encouraging Mildred Taverner in what, it must be confessed, was a sadly bungling effort.

At six o’clock Frank Abbott returned and once more walked through the lounge, but this time in a reverse direction. He left the door of Castell’s office ajar, and Miss Silver immediately joined him there. As she came in and shut the door behind her, he was turning up the old-fashioned wall-lamp. The light struck upon his face and showed him with rather more than the usual dash of sarcasm in his expression. At her sober, “Well, Frank, you have something to tell me?” he smiled provokingly.

“Have I? I wonder. You see, you always know the answers already.”

“My dear Frank!”

He laughed again.

“Oh, you were quite right of course. You always are.”

She shook her head in a reproving manner.

“Exaggeration is a bad fault in a detective. An attempt to improve upon facts may be fatal.”

As she spoke she seated herself and resumed her knitting.