“And was it all very friendly this afternoon?”

“So far as I know, sir. I just heard what I said.”

“You’re sure about it being Mr. Barton?”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because of what the Colonel said, and Mr. Barton’s voice. He’s got ever such a deep voice, and sort of gaspy. My Dad says he was gassed in the war-the first war, that was, not the one my Dad was in.”

“Then as far as you know, Mr. Barton was the last person who saw Colonel Repton before Miss Eccles took him his tea?”

“Oh, no, sir.”

“Well, who else was there?”

Florrie had run on easily enough, but now she wasn’t easy any more. She wouldn’t have let anyone say she was frightened-there wasn’t anything to be frightened about. It was just that the Colonel being dead and the police in the house, it didn’t seem right to say what she had heard, but of course she would have to say it. She opened her mouth and shut it again. March said,

“Come-who was it?”

She was astonished to hear how small her own voice sounded.

“It was only Mrs. Repton.”

“I see. And you were passing the study door?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Perhaps you heard what was being said.”

“Well, sir-”

It all came back to her with a rush and she couldn’t go on-the door flying open like it had, and Mrs. Repton turning on the threshold. It had shaken her at the time, and it shook her now, the way Mrs. Repton had looked and the thing she said. Florrie had been brought up to go to church and Sunday school. She thanked God very fervently that Mrs. Repton hadn’t seen her.

Miss Silver laid a hand upon the arm that had begun to shake.

“There is nothing to be afraid of, Florrie.”

Florrie blinked.

“Oh, miss, you didn’t see her.”

March said, “You saw Mrs. Repton?”

She gulped and nodded.

“Just tell us what happened.”

The words came tumbling out. It did her good to get rid of them.

“I was coming through to the dining-room. They were talking ever so loud-I could hear their voices, and they sounded ever so angry. And then the door opened sudden and Mrs. Repton come out. I didn’t want her to see me, so I stood against the wall, and she turned right round and looked back into the room. Oh, sir, it was the dreadfullest look you ever saw-and she said to the poor Colonel-oh, sir she said, ‘You’d be a lot more good to me dead than alive,’ she said, and she come away and banged the door.”

Florrie had gone away, shaken but resilient. When the door had shut behind her Randal March said,

“That being that, we had better see Mrs. Repton. In the circumstances, I didn’t think it would be tactful to send a message by Florrie. Perhaps, Crisp, you wouldn’t mind-”

When the Inspector had gone out March said,

“Well, what do you make of it?”

Miss Silver gave the faint cough with which she was wont to emphasize a point.

“It is, I think, too soon to draw any conclusion. We know that there was anger between them, and people do not always mean what they say.”

He was silent. After a moment she said,

“I do not think Mrs. Repton will wish me to remain, in which case-”

“You will have to go? Yes, I am afraid so. But I would much rather you stayed.”

Scilla Repton came into the room with Crisp behind her. She was still wearing the tartan skirt and emerald jumper, but she had taken time to put on fresh make-up, and her hair shone under the ceiling light. It had been in her mind to put on a black dress and play the disconsolate widow, but something in her rebelled. And what was the good of it anyway when there wasn’t anyone in the house that didn’t know that she and Roger were all washed up? He had talked to his sister-he had told her so-and no doubt she would make the most of it to the police, so why not be honest and have done with it? There would be another of those awful inquests, and she supposed she would have to stay for the funeral, but once all that was over Tilling Green wouldn’t see her again in a hurry. So what did it matter what any of these people thought or said about her? She didn’t give a damn.

Observing Miss Silver, she raised her carefully shaped eyebrows and said without anything in her voice to soften the words,

“What is she doing here?”

March said,

“Miss Repton and Florrie Stokes preferred to have another woman present, and Miss Silver was kind enough-”

She interrupted him with a short hard laugh.

“A chaperone! My dear man, how prehistoric! I should have thought Maggie was past wanting one anyhow, but of course you never can tell, can you!”

“If you object to Miss Silver’s presence-”

She drew a chair to the other side of the writing-table, sat down, and proceeded to light a cigarette.

“Oh, no, I don’t object. Why should I? If Maggie wants a chaperone, I’m sure I do.”

She flicked out the match and dropped it among the pens and pencils which Roger Repton would not use again. She drew on the cigarette and the tip brightened. She had quite deliberately turned her back upon Miss Silver, who now as deliberately changed her own position, moving from one corner of the leather-covered couch to the other, an adjustment which gave her a very good view of Mrs. Repton as she sat, her legs crossed, the mesh of the stockings so fine that it hardly seemed to be there at all, the red shoes a little too ornate, a good deal too high in the heel.

If Miss Silver’s own garments were quite incredibly out of date, it was because she liked them that way and had discovered that an old-fashioned and governessy appearance was a decided asset in the profession which she had adopted. To be considered negligible may be the means of acquiring the kind of information which only becomes available when people are off their guard. She was fully aware that she was being treated as negligible now. She thought that Scilla Repton was putting on an act, and she wondered why she had chosen just this pose of callous indifference. She would not have expected good taste, but what was behind these bright colours, this careful indifference? A sudden death in a household must shock even its most indifferent member, and this was Roger Repton’s wife.

Randal March was speaking.

“I believe you had had a very serious quarrel with your husband on Saturday, Mrs. Repton.”

She withdrew her cigarette and blew out a little cloud of smoke.

“Who says so?”

He did not answer this.

“In the course of this quarrel the question of the anonymous letters came up.”

“What anonymous letters?”

“Oh, I think you have heard of them. One of them was in evidence at the inquest on Doris Pell. Colonel Repton had interrupted a telephone conversation between you and Mr. Gilbert Earle. During what followed he spoke of having received one of these letters, accusing you of carrying on an affair with Mr. Earle. A very serious quarrel developed, in the course of which divorce was mentioned and he said that you must leave this house immediately. The actual words were that you must get out. Later this was to some extent modified. He had begun to think about the scandal, and said that it would be better if you stayed here till after Miss Brooke’s funeral.”

She said with an accentuation of her usual drawl,

“You were listening at the door?”

“Somebody was,” said March drily. “Voices raised in a violent quarrel do attract attention, and for part of the time at any rate I understand that the door was open.”

She lifted a shoulder in the slightest of shrugs.

“Oh, well, people do have quarrels, you know. Roger and I had lots, but we always made them up again.”

“Do you wish to imply that this was not the first time he had accused you of infidelity?”

“I don’t mean to imply anything of the sort, and you know it!”