Since she was just as well aware of this strategic fact as Mamie was, and as she had also received something rather stronger than a hint from the Chief Constable that the police would like her to be available for further questioning, Scilla made up her mind to stick it out. She went in to Ledlington and saw Mr. Morson, who informed her that she was right out of Roger’s will, but that it was unlikely that Maggie Repton and Valentine Grey would do anything about upsetting the settlement, which raised her spirits considerably. She had really had no idea with whom the decision would rest, but if it was only old Maggie and Valentine, a little sob-stuff would get her by with them all right.

With this off her mind, she went into Ashleys’ and bought a very smart black autumn model suit with the new skirt and a most becoming shoulder line. She liked colours herself, and the brighter the better, but when all was said and done nothing set a fair girl off like black, and men fell for it every time. She could wear it at the inquest and at the funeral, and it would be just the thing for town. She supposed she had better have a hat-just a twist of something-and some veiling. A veil could be very becoming, only it mustn’t hide her hair.

She brought all the things home with her and tried them on again in her own room. Sometimes things were a ghastly disappointment when you did that, but these looked even better than they had in the shop. Good clothes gave you a pull when you were looking for a job, and with an off white blouse and something in the lapel there wouldn’t be any need to look like a walking funeral. Meanwhile she didn’t have to see anything much of either Maggie or Val-half an hour twice a day at lunch and dinner, and an occasional meeting on the stairs or in the hall. And for the rest, breakfast in bed and the struggle with being bored, which wasn’t really anything new.

After Gilbert Earle had rung off in a hurry he sat down to compose a tactful and charming letter to Valentine Grey. It was going quite well, when he had a sudden urge to tear it up. Written words may be as charming as you please, but they take colour and warmth from the voice. He turned back to the telephone, was lucky enough to get Florrie, a devout admirer, and sent her to fetch Valentine. Actually, the romantic interest which Florrie was unable to disguise had more of a chilling than a softening effect. Valentine shut the door, took up the receiver and said, “Yes?” all in an extremely restrained manner. Yet after Gilbert’s first few words there was no doubt that a thaw had set in. It was not so long since she had felt that it would be at any rate tolerable to marry him, and here was his voice, kind and warm and feeling.

“My dear, I suppose I ought not to be ringing you up, but I couldn’t help it. Such a dreadful shock for you and for Miss Maggie. And I did think a lot of him, you know-I really did, Val. He was always extraordinarily nice to me. So I thought that in spite of everything you would just let me say how sorry I am. That’s all, my dear. No need for you to say anything-I understand.” He rang off.

As she hung up at her end, her first thought was, “He really meant it. It would have been much easier not to ring up at all.” Then, quickly, “But that’s just what he means me to think. He can’t bear to be in the wrong, or to have anyone feel that he isn’t as charming as one thought he was. He is counting now at this minute on my saying just what I did say to myself. Oh, yes, he’s counting on it, but all the same I believe he did really mean that he was sorry.” She didn’t get farther than that.

The Chief Constable’s car drove up just after lunch. He asked for Miss Silver, and when she came down to him in the study he greeted her with a smile.

“Well, I have one or two things I would like to ask Miss Maggie. I haven’t liked to press her too hard, but she ought to be getting over some of the shock by now.”

“She is a good deal better. I think she could answer anything you wish to ask her.”

“I shall also want to see Mrs. Repton. You know, there is quite a prima facie case against her. I’ve been in communication with the Public Prosecutor, and her arrest is being considered.”

She did not speak, but she looked away. With all the affection and respect which he had for her, there were moments when he could have shaken her, and this was one of them. He did not ask her to bow to his opinion any more than he was prepared to accept hers, either by force or by favour, but this standing aside from the issue, this silent impenetrable resistance, was exasperating in the extreme. He said with more sarcasm in his voice than he was aware of,

“I suppose you have nothing very epoch-making to report?”

She looked at him gravely, and spoke gravely too.

“It is often the very little things that count. I am sure I do not need to tell you that. As Lord Tennyson so rightly says:

‘strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.’

What we find may seem a little thing, but the smallest addition to knowledge is not to be despised.”

“How true. Do I understand that you have a small addition to offer me?”

“I think so.” She seated herself as before in the sofa corner, the flowered knitting-bag at her side. Having withdrawn from it little Josephine’s now completed cardigan, she took out a crochet hook and proceeded to give it an edging of double tricot. A similar edging had already been added to the jumper. As she slipped the hook between two stitches she said,

“I think you had better sit down, Randal. What I have to tell you, though slight in itself, may prove to be important.”

He complied with what was not so much a suggestion as a gracious permission, and reflected with a twinge of rueful humour that she had most perfectly contrived to put him in his place. Only just there he had to go back upon his own word. She didn’t contrive these things, they were the result of an attitude of mind, an innate poise and dignity. He had seen her freeze a usually imperturbable Chief Inspector where he stood. He had seen her reduce the highly irreverent Frank Abbott to a very real reverence. And-he might just as well confess it-in his own case she could always with a look or an inflection waft him back to that long ago schoolroom over which she had presided with such efficiency. The smile he turned upon her had lost its sarcasm. He said simply and frankly,

“You went to see Miss Pell?”

“Yes, Randal.”

“Did you get anything out of her?”

“I think so. You had better hear what it is.”

“I should like to.”

She told him accurately and succinctly about her interview with Miss Pell. As always, he admired her faculty for remembering and repeating a conversation. When it was done he sat silent and frowning for a while before he said,

“Well, it’s true enough about a corner having been torn off the last letter which Doris got, but that appears to be the only point upon which there is any confirmation. It was, of course, that letter which pushed her right over the edge, and it was a filthy piece of work. But a girl who is wrought up to the point of drowning herself isn’t what you would call a reliable witness, and what she said is hearsay at that.‘’’

Miss Silver said mildly,

“I have no doubt that Miss Pell was repeating just what she had been told, both in the interview with Doris and in that with Connie Brooke. If you were to question her, you would find that she would repeat everything exactly as she repeated it to me. I doubt whether there would be the smallest variation.”

He nodded.

“I don’t doubt her accuracy, but a girl who is on the brink of suicide-”

Miss Silver laid her hands down upon the blue cardigan and said in a tone of astonishment and reproof,

“My dear Randal, are you still able to believe that Doris Pell took her own life?”