The police arrived at just after ten o’clock.

As they turned into the drive, Frank Abbott said to Inspector Jackson,

“Look here, I want Miss Silver to be there when we question these people, and the only way it can be done is to have them all in together. She knows them, and we don’t, and I want her opinion as to how they react. But I don’t want to give anything away. I don’t know how long she means to stay anyhow, but her position here would be quite untenable if they thought she had anything to do with the police. So if it’s all right with you, I suggest we round up all these Colony people and see them together at Deepe House, and if there seems to be any reason for it, we can go through them one at a time afterwards. If I drop you off about here you can do Remington, and Miranda, and the Miss Tremletts, whilst I collect the elusive Robinson. And you had better bring Miss Elliot along too. She’s staying with the Miss Tremletts. I don’t suppose any of them will be out.”

Inspector Jackson agreeing, Frank Abbott stopped the car and set him down.

He stopped again at the east wing, where he wasted ten minutes trying to make Mr. John Robinson hear. All the windows looking on to the courtyard had been boarded up, and an accumulation of dead leaves and dusty spiders’ webs suggested that the front door was no longer in use. The bell was certainly out of order. Having made as much noise as he could with the knocker without producing any result except to awake the courtyard echoes, he walked along the impenetrable hedge which joined the front wall of the house and called, “Hullo!” At the sixth or seventh repetition there was an answering call, and a man’s voice said, “Want anything?”

“I want Mr. John Robinson.”

“Well?”

“Are you Robinson?”

“I am. What do you want with me?”

“Answers to a few questions. I am Inspector Abbott of Scotland Yard, and I have come over with Inspector Jackson of the Ledshire County Police to make some enquiries. We shall be obliged if you will join the other members of the Colony over at Mr. Craddock’s side of the house.”

A not unmelodious whistle came from behind the hedge. Mr. Robinson said,

“What’s up?”

“A routine enquiry.”

“Well, even routine enquiries have to be about something. All right. I’ll know more about it when I join the party, won’t I? You’ll have to put up with my working clothes.” His voice receded.

Frank had begun to wonder whether it had gone away for good, when there was a sound of footsteps away on his left and John Robinson hove into view. The working clothes to which he had alluded were of the disintegrating kind-flannel trousers with a good many rents in them and a liberal plastering of mud, a couple of sweaters so carelessly disposed that the under one, which showed traces of having once been blue, stuck out at the neck and sleeves and from gaping holes in the elbows. Above all this, a short beard, a very untidy head of hair, dark eyes under bushy eyebrows.

He nodded affably as he came up, and remarked,

“Go where glory waits thee, but when fame elates thee, oh then remember me-as Tommy Moore says. And if you have any idea of haling me to quod on account of something I haven’t done, I will merely mention that I have a family of hens, a blackbird with a broken leg, and a tame rat called Samuel Whiskers. He is the only one of the party able to shift for himself, so I commend the others to your humanity-if a policeman has any. It is, of course, rather a lot to expect.” He had a soft, agreeable voice and a country accent, more noticeable than it had been from the other side of the hedge.

They arrived at the door of the other wing, and were admitted by Mrs. Masters, who put them in the study and went to tell Mrs. Craddock that there was a policeman there with “that Mr. Robinson,” her manner declaring that she always had said there was something wrong about him.

Peveril Craddock came into the study, very much the master of the house and of the situation. He might have been the headmaster receiving a deputation of which he could not be expected to approve. There was a kind of courteous gloom, a magnanimous condescension. His voice took on its richest tones.

The police-he really failed to see-but of course every facility they desired… The other members of the Colony?… Indeed?… Of course if they wished it… Oh, yes-certainly, certainly…

He was wearing corduroy trousers of a subdued blue and a belted blouse of the same colour with the merest hint of red and green embroidery at the neck and wrists. Hair and beard were in beautiful order and disengaged a faint odour of what was doubtless a herbal brilliantine. His gaze rested upon Mr. John Robinson’s deplorable get-up for no more than a moment, and then withdrew.

Mr. Robinson sustained both the look and its withdrawal with cheerful calm. He went on looking at Peveril, and appeared to be seeking for some quotation which would describe him in suitable terms. He was, as a matter of fact, hesitating between one which might be considered offensive and a milder one which he felt to be inadequate, when the door opened and the two Miss Tremletts, Thomasina Elliot, Augustus Remington, and Miranda trooped in, shepherded by Inspector Jackson. There were greetings. There were a great many questions. The Miss Tremletts were agitated. Miranda, her red head topping the others, frowning and silent. Augustus Remington voluble in protest.

“My morning’s work will be ruined! I had an idea-very slight, very tenuous, quite terribly elusive.”

He addressed himself to Gwyneth Tremlett.

“Inspired by the exquisite shade of silk I purchased yesterday -treasure trove, my dear, pure treasure trove, but fragile as the bloom on a butterfly’s wing. But you will understand me-at this stage a touch, a breath, a current of cold unsympathetic thought, and the nascent idea is bruised, is blighted, is carried away. I hope it will not prove so in this case, but I am quite terribly afraid.”

He continued his lamentation whilst Mrs. Craddock and Miss Silver were summoned. With his straw-coloured hair distractedly ruffled and in workaday garments consisting of brown velvet trousers and a grass-green smock, Thomasina thought he looked a good deal like a grasshopper-if you could imagine a grasshopper with straw-coloured hair. She was, however, a good deal too much taken up with her own affairs to do more than spare him a momentary attention. He was mad of course, but then most of the people here, if not absolutely mad, were so odd that there wasn’t much in it. She went back to thinking about Peter Brandon and how absolutely enraging it was that he should have dared to come down here-getting Mrs. Masters to take him in and positively pushing himself on to Miss Gwyneth! If the police wanted to arrest anyone they had better arrest Peter. It would just about serve him right.

These romantic thoughts were broken in upon by the entrance of Miss Silver and Mrs. Craddock, the latter as pale and nervous as if she were being ushered into a cage of lions instead of into a room full of people whom she met every day. She took the first chair she came to and sat on the edge of it looking frightened. Since there was no vacant chair beside her, Miss Silver had perforce to leave her there and cross the room. The seat she found gave her a very good view of everyone. She had the Miss Tremletts and Thomasina beside her, and beyond them Mr. Craddock, with Mr. John Robinson on the other side, hunched up on the window-seat with his back to the light. From across the room Augustus Remington and Miranda faced her, Miranda sprawled in one of the larger chairs, Augustus on a low stool in what she considered a ridiculously affected attitude. The two Inspectors had drawn chairs up to the writing-table.