Miss Maggie gazed at him.

“Nora Mallett was there too. She is a cousin, you know, and so is Mettie Eccles.”

“Yes. Now when did you last see Colonel Repton before that-and where?”

She said in a distressed voice,

“It was in the study, just before all the people came. We had the Work Party here-I suppose they told you. And Roger was dreadfully angry. Oh, not about the Party-it wasn’t that at all. It was-Oh, do I have to say?”

Miss Silver had drawn up a chair at the other side of the bed. She said gently but firmly,

“I am afraid so, my dear. Mr. March will have heard already that there was trouble between your brother and his wife.”

“Yes, Miss Maggie, you had better tell me. Was that what he was angry about?”

“Oh, yes. He said he had come to the end.”

Randal March looked at Miss Silver, who very slightly shook her head. She said,

“I think Mr. March will want to know just how that was said. He had told you that his wife was going away for good, had he not, and the word divorce had been mentioned?”

Miss Maggie caught her breath.

“Oh, yes, it had. He thought she had been-had been- unfaithful.”

“With Gilbert Earle?”

“Yes-yes-”

“He really said she was leaving him, and he spoke of a divorce?”

“Oh, yes-poor Roger.”

“Then how did he say that bit about having come to the end? Will you see if you can give me his exact words?”

“Oh, I don’t know-it seems so dreadful to repeat them.”

March looked across at Miss Silver.

“I think she should understand what is involved. You will explain it better than I can.”

She took her cue mildly, but with authority.

“Dear Miss Repton, I know it is distressing for you, but a good deal depends on just how these things were said. If the words ‘I have come to the end’ are taken by themselves, they would seem to point to suicide.”

Miss Maggie’s “Oh, no-” was only half articulate.

Miss Silver went on.

“If you do not think he meant that, you must try to re-member what else was said at that time. A man who intends to commit suicide would not be thinking of divorce. You are sure that he did mention divorce?”

A little faint colour had come into Miss Repton’s face. She said in quite a strong voice,

“Oh, yes, I am quite sure he did, because it shocked me dreadfully. We have never had such a thing in our family. And Roger would never have taken his own life-he had a great deal too much principle.”

March said,

“Then just how did he say those words about having come to the end?”

Maggie Repton put up her hand to her throat.

“He said Scilla was going away and not coming back. He said, ‘She’s been having an affair with Gilbert Earle-if that’s the worst of it.’ And then he said, ‘I’ve come to the end. She must go.’ And then he went out of the room and banged the door.”

Randal March looked across at Miss Silver and nodded.

“There you have it. Three words, and they make all the difference. He had come to the end of his patience with his wife. The ‘She must go’ makes that perfectly clear-if that is how it went. You’re quite sure about it, Miss Maggie?”

Oh, yes, she was quite sure. Now that it was said it had relieved her very much. She repeated it all again quite slowly, and when he had written it down she signed her name.

Miss Silver went downstairs with the Chief Constable. As soon as they had come out upon the landing he said,

“I want to see that girl Florrie. Crisp has taken a statement from her. I want to go over it with her, and I should very much like you to be there. In the case of a young girl I think it is always advisable that another woman should be present. Do you think she would be likely to object?”

Miss Silver made a slight movement of the head.

“I have found her all that is pleasant and helpful. Perhaps you would like me to let her know that you wish to see her. My presence would then be brought about in quite a natural manner.”

He went into the study, and after telling Valentine that Maggie Repton was alone, and that she considered that some light nourishment would now be beneficial, Miss Silver acquainted her with the Chief Constable’s desire to interview Florrie Stokes. The bell was rung. Florrie appeared to answer it, and far from showing any objection to Miss Silver’s presence, evinced a disposition to cling to her. She had been crying and was obviously in a frightened and emotional state, which made March congratulate himself on Miss Silver’s presence. The Inspector, who had encountered her before, responded to her greetings in the briefest and most formal manner.

Colonel Repton’s body had been removed. The room had been aired, but the heavy smell of smoke remained. The broken glass, the decanter, the cup and saucer and plate conveyed to the dead man had been taken away. There was a damp patch on the already much worn and stained green leather of the writing-table. When it dried there would be nothing to show that it had given mute evidence of a violent death. Where Roger Repton had sprawled the Chief Constable now sat with Florrie’s statement in his hand, whilst Crisp on his left kept pencil and notebook ready.

Florrie sat on the couch beside Miss Silver. She was upset, but she was excited too. It was an awful thing to have happened, but it would be something to talk about for the rest of her life. The Chief Constable was ever so goodlooking, and so was Mrs. March. Miss Silver was ever so kind. She was glad she hadn’t got to talk to that Inspector Crisp again. Jumped down your throat something awful, for all the world like one of Joe Blagdon’s terrier dogs when it was after a rat. She didn’t like rats, but she didn’t like to see anything killed.

March took her through her statement, which began with her coming into the hall on the Saturday and hearing Colonel and Mrs. Repton quarrelling on the other side of the study door. The quarrel was about Mr. Gilbert Earle. She had told the story so often that it was like something she had got by heart, and she could repeat it and scarcely vary it by a word. The Colonel had said that Mrs. Repton had been carrying on with Mr. Gilbert-he had had one of those letters about her. They had been meeting at her friend Mrs. Foster’s flat, and he would be able to get evidence about it and divorce her.

March said, “You heard him mention the word divorce?”

“Oh, yes, I did.”

“You are quite sure about that?”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

He went on.

“Now, about these anonymous letters-you say Colonel Repton spoke of them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He said he had had one?”

“Yes, sir-and so he did, for I took it up to him myself.”

Inspector Crisp lifted his head with a jerk. March said,

“You took it up to him?”

“Oh, yes, sir. There was one for him and one for Miss Valentine.”

“And how did you know what kind of letters they were?”

Florrie was more at her ease every moment. If there was a subject that had been thoroughly discussed in Tilling Green, it was the subject of the anonymous letters-the cheap white paper on which they were written, the flimsy envelopes which matched it, the large awkward writing. Sam Boxer, who was the postman, had given far too particular a description of these points for her to be in any doubt about them, and she had actually seen the one which Mrs. Pratt had had, because she had been there when Mrs. P. came in and showed it to Mum and Dad-a horrid spiteful letter about her Joe having been had up in court over breaking a shop window. And he wasn’t a bad boy really, only a bit wild. But the letter said everyone hoped he would go to prison and he was bound to come to a bad end anyhow. And Mrs. Pratt had taken on something dreadful.

Florrie explained all this with artless confidence.