She said, “You had better read it,” and backed away to stand by the tall chair again and rest her hands upon it.

Gilbert stared at the cheap paper, the big clumsy writing. He read:

“You may not mind his playing fast and loose with Doris Pell and driving her to take her life or about his carrying on with S R and if you don’t know what I mean you are more of a fool than what I took you for but you had better find out about his marrying Marie Dubois under a false name when he was in Canada or you may find yourself in the cart along of the other pore gurls he as led astray.”

He read to the end, looked across at her with blazing eyes, and demanded,

“What the devil is this?”

Valentine’s colour stood high.

“I got it this morning. I wasn’t going to show it to you- I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t said those things about Connie.”

“I never looked the same side of the road as Connie! Who would?”

There was a bright flame of anger in her. She cried back at him,

“She’s dead! How can you talk like that about her when she’s dead!”

It was like a head-on clash between them. Where had it come from suddenly, this hot antagonism? She thought, “Oh, God-I might have married him!” And he, “She won’t marry me now. There was something about Scilla in that damned letter. Better go on talking about Connie.”

His eyes went to the paper in his hand, and like a flash Valentine knew why. “You may not mind his carrying on with S R-” He was talking about Connie because he didn’t want to talk about that. He said in a moderated tone,

“Oh, well, I lost my temper. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, and I’m sorry if I did. I hardly knew the girl, but of course you did, and it’s been a shock and all that. I’m sorry if I said anything I shouldn’t. As for this-” he beat on the paper with his hand-“it’s just pure poison-pen! I suppose you’re not going to ask me whether I was really planning to commit bigamy?”

She said, “No-it doesn’t arise. I’m not asking you about Marie Dubois-I’m not asking you about Scilla.”

“Scilla-”

Her colour had begun to fade again, the flame in her was dying down. She said,

“I don’t need to ask about Scilla. I came in through the drawing-room last night. The door into her sitting-room was ajar, and I heard you. I suppose I shouldn’t have listened, but I did.”

He made a creditable effort.

“I don’t know what you heard. I’ve known her a long time. There’s never been anything serious. If you heard anything at all you would have gathered that whatever there had been, it was over.”

She said,

“It doesn’t matter. No, I suppose I oughtn’t to say that, because of course it matters to Roger. But it doesn’t matter to me-it didn’t matter last night. You see, I knew then I couldn’t marry you. I knew it as soon as Jason came back. I oughtn’t ever to have said I would. We don’t belong. Jason and I do. Now will you please go?”

Gilbert Earle went.

It was late on the following day that Miss Silver was called to the telephone. Since the instrument was in the dining-room and supper was in progress, she hoped that her tact and discretion would not be put to too great a test. Mrs. Rodney had handed her the receiver without saying who the caller was, but no sooner had a deep, pleasant voice pronounced her name than she was aware that it was Rietta March, the Chief Constable’s wife.

“Dear Miss Silver, how are you? I do hope this is not an inconvenient moment. You are not in the middle of a meal or anything?”

Miss Silver coughed.

“We are at supper, but I feel sure that my kind hostess will not mind a temporary interruption.”

Rietta, having been thus informed that the Tilling end of the conversation would be public property, and having in any case been instructed not to say anything that could not be proclaimed aloud upon the village green, continued.

“I should have rung up before, but Randal hasn’t had a moment. Now when are we going to see you? You can’t be in Ledshire without at least coming over to tea. Could you manage tomorrow?”

“Well, I don’t know, my dear-”

Rietta went on.

“Oh, please do come! George has grown tremendously, and you haven’t even seen little Meg. Look here, Randal says he will be over in your direction tomorrow-some tiresome business or other-and he could pick you up at half past three if that will suit you. Do please say that it will. He sends his love, and we both want to see you so much.”

Miss Silver returned to her cocoa and scrambled egg. The tip of Miss Wayne’s small pink nose twitched in a manner which strongly suggested a white mouse in the throes of curiosity. In her scholastic days Miss Silver had more than once had to contend with the passionate partiality which little boys seem to entertain for these creatures. She had never been able to share it. She found herself wishing that Miss Wayne did not so often remind her of them. She hastened to explain Rietta’s call.

“The Marches are old friends. Mrs. March has very kindly invited me to tea tomorrow. Her husband was once a pupil of mine. No one would ever think so to look at him now, but as a little boy he was considered too delicate to go to school, so he shared his sisters’ lessons.”

Miss Wayne quivered with interest.

“Do you mean the Chief Constable? Such a fine looking man! No one would ever think that he had been delicate. Now let me see-I am afraid you will have to start rather early, but if you take the three o’clock bus and change at the Merry Harvesters… No, we had better look it up-I am not quite sure about the connection. I hope we have a really up-to-date timetable. My dear sister was so methodical about these things.”

Miss Silver explained that Mr. March would call for her- he had business in this direction.

Miss Renie dabbed her nose.

“Oh dear-do you suppose that it would be something to do with poor Connie? It seems so terrible that people should think it could be anything except a dreadful, dreadful accident! I won’t say it wasn’t foolish of Maggie Repton to let poor Connie have those sleeping-tablets, because I suppose it was. Esther was always so very particular about things like that. Prescriptions should never be passed on, she used to say, because of course what agrees with one person may not agree with another. Let them go to the doctor themselves and not go borrowing, she used to say. So Maggie Repton ought not to have done it, but I’m afraid poor Connie must have been careless too. But I can’t see why the police should be interested. Mettie says poor Maggie Repton is quite prostrated. They keep asking her how many tablets there were in the bottle, and of course she has no idea. As if one counted things like that!” She gave a little tittering laugh and then dabbed her nose again. “Oh dear-I didn’t mean-of course one ought not to make a joke of it.”

Miss Silver went on talking about the March family.

“I have always kept up with them. The girls are very happily married.”

She discoursed upon the theme at some length-Isobel’s children-Margaret’s services during the war-the valued friendship of the elder Mrs. March.

There was a moment after supper when she and Joyce Rodney were alone. Plates and dishes had been cleared, and Joyce was washing up whilst Miss Silver, always anxious to be helpful, dried for her. In the dining-room Miss Wayne was engaged in setting out the breakfast things. The door through to that part of the house being shut, Joyce said quick and low,

“I am taking David to a friend of mine in Ledlington tomorrow. I don’t want him to hear anything-about Connie. Penny means to go on with the school, but it will have to be at Lower Tilling. Her mother has a biggish house there, but it would be a good deal farther for David to go-I should have to take him on my bicycle. Anyhow I thought if I could get him away until after the inquest and the funeral-”