He was regarding her with a kind of quizzical respect.

“Do tell me how you would distract the attention of a man whom you were going to poison.”

Miss Silver turned her knitting and measured the sleeve against her hand.

“I think I should say I saw a strange dog in the garden. The cyanide would, of course, be dissolved and contained in some small bottle which would go easily into a handbag or a pocket.”

“I see you have it all worked out. How fortunate for society that you do not devote your abilities to crime!”

The gravity of her look reproved him. He hastened to say,

“I suppose it could have happened like that. How long was Mettie Eccles away from the tearoom?”

“It was quite a long time.”

“You noticed her return?”

“Yes.”

“Was there any change in her appearance?”

“Yes, Randal, there was. She was, she had been, agitated. There were signs of tears. Her face was freshly powdered. It is, of course, quite possible that Colonel Repton had been informing her that he intended to divorce his wife. He had already told his sister and Mr. Barton of his intention. If Miss Eccles was not the person he had in mind as the author of the anonymous letters, he might very easily have taken the opportunity of confiding in so old a friend.”

He shook his head.

“You are building houses with a pack of cards. Very ingenious houses, I’ll give you that, but you no sooner set one up than you proceed to knock it down again. As a plain man, I don’t mind telling you I’d give all your ingenious suppositions for a ha’p’orth of real evidence. And it is only in the case of Scilla Repton that there is really any evidence at all. Plainly, she had a motive. Even if she knew that Repton had altered his will-and she may not have known that he had already done so-his death would save her settlement, her reputation, and any chance she might have of marrying Gilbert Earle. She had knowledge of the presence of cyanide in the gardener’s shed, and she had easy access to it. She had an angry interview with him within an hour of his death, and could have introduced the cyanide into the decanter either then or at some previous time. The interview closed with the damning words overheard by Florrie as Mrs. Repton left the study-‘You’d be a lot more good to me dead than alive.’ This constitutes a strong case.”

“Undoubtedly. But it does not link up with the anonymous letters, or with the death of Connie Brooke.”

He let that go.

“To return for a moment to Mettie Eccles. Your last remark about her was to the effect that if she were not the author of the letters and Repton had therefore no accusation to bring against her, the agitation which you noticed might have been due to his having told her that he intended to divorce his wife. Don’t you think this possibility derives a good deal of support from the fact that she immediately and directly accused Scilla Repton of having killed him? Such an accusation might very well have sprung from a belief that, driven by her infidelity, Colonel Repton had taken his own life. It certainly seems to me to be the most natural explanation.”

“What does Miss Eccles herself say about her interview with Colonel Repton?”

“Nothing that amounts to anything. She just says she took him in his tea, and that he was sitting at his table and appeared to be as usual. She says that she didn’t stay, and that she went up to Miss Maggie’s room to tidy herself before going back to the others. I can press her, of course, as to whether Repton said anything about his wife. But look here- do you seriously suspect her?”

Miss Silver was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Suspicions are not evidence, as you have pointed out. But I believe that somewhere there is the evidence which would convict the person who is responsible for at least a double murder. It occurs to me that this evidence may lie farther back in the case than has been supposed. I feel quite sure that the question of the anonymous letters is fundamental. I would like, therefore, to go back to the letters received by Doris Pell, the girl who was found drowned in the Manor Lake. She lived with an aunt, who was formerly maid to Mrs. Grey, and they did dressmaking. I suppose the aunt was interviewed by the police?”

“Oh, yes, Crisp saw her. There had been more than one letter, but she was only able to produce the last one. It was the usual disgusting type of thing, full of what seem to have been completely unfounded suggestions of immorality.”

“And what did Miss Pell have to say to Inspector Crisp?”

“Oh, nothing at all. The poor woman just went on crying and saying what a good girl Doris was, and how no one had ever had a word to say against her or against anyone in their family. They were Chapel people and very religious, and Doris just couldn’t bear the shame of it.”

Miss Silver was casting off. As the last stitch fell from the needles, she looked across them at the Chief Constable and said,

“Would you have any objection to my going to see Miss Pell, Randal?”

Miss Pell lived three houses beyond the post office. Now that she was alone there, the house was too big for her and she was thinking of taking a lodger. Only of course she would have to be very particular about the sort of person she would take. A man was not to be thought of, and a female lodger must neither be so young as to have the slightest inclination towards flightiness, nor so aged as to be a possible liability in the way of attendance or nursing, a thing which Miss Pell was careful to explain you undertook for your own family- and she would be the last to shirk her duty to a relative- but she couldn’t, no she really couldn’t consider it in the case of a stranger. Doris ’s room was therefore still unoccupied.

The house was one of a row of cottages all joined together, so Miss Pell had no need to be nervous. If she were to knock upon the wall on the right as you looked to the front, old Mrs. Rennick would knock back and call out to know what she wanted. If she knocked on the left-hand wall, young Mrs. Masters would do the same. There were, of course, drawbacks to this state of things, because Mrs. Rennick disagreed a good deal with her daughter-in-law. They carried on long arguments from one room to another. And though the Masters baby was very good on the whole, it did sometimes cry.

But then, as Miss Pell had often said, when you sit and sew all day it’s nice to hear what’s going on next door.

Miss Silver paid the visit, to which Randal March had raised no objection, at about half past three. Miss Pell admitted her to a narrow passage with a stair going up on one side and a half open door on the other. Everything was very clean, but the house had the peculiar smell inseparable from the profession of dressmaking. The room into which she was ushered had a goodsized bay window. It seemed improbable that it was ever opened.

Seen in the light, Miss Pell appeared to be about fifty years of age. She had sparse greyish hair brushed back from the forehead and pinned into a tight plait at the back. Her features were thin and sharp, her complexion sallow, and her eyelids reddened. She began to speak at once.

“If it’s about some more work for Miss Renie, I’m afraid I couldn’t undertake it-not at present. You are the lady who is staying with her, aren’t you-Miss Silver?”

Miss Silver said, “Yes,” adding with a friendly smile, “And you are too busy to take any more work?”

“I couldn’t manage it-not for a long time,” said Miss Pell. She spoke in a curious faltering way, running two words together, pausing as if she was short of breath, and then going on with a rush. She went on now. “I haven’t really caught up, not since my poor niece-staying with Miss Renie, you will have heard about her, I daresay. And apart from missing her as I do, I was left with all the work the two of us had in hand, and I don’t seem to be able to get it straightened out.”