Both the Inspectors were looking at her with attention. Jackson appeared somewhat startled. Frank Abbott said,

“In other words, if you built up his head with bandages and put him into shoes which would give him another inch, his five-foot-five or six would become five-foot-seven or eight, and he might be a possible candidate. His shoulders would have to be built out a bit too, I should say, but of course that could be done.” He stopped and broke into a laugh. “I’m afraid my mind boggles at the idea of Augustus playing with any weapon more lethal than an embroidery-needle!”

Miss Silver’s glance reproved him.

“I must remind you that the question which I am endeavouring to answer referred only to size.”

He had reverted to gravity.

“You are perfectly right. How does Mr. John Robinson fit in? He’s medium enough-I should put him at five-foot-eight or nine. The bandages would cover up his beard. And that goes for Craddock too. A bearded man has just got to do something about it if he wants to go murdering people. Can you make a picture of Robinson plus bandages and minus beard, and say how it strikes you?”

She appeared to consider this, but not for longer than a moment.

“In point of size there is nothing against it. Mr. Robinson is neither tall nor short. He wears loose and baggy clothes, but I have the impression that he is of a very average figure.”

Frank said quickly,

“Did you notice the man’s hands?”

“They were gloved. I have no impression as to their size. I saw the gloves-old loose washleather ones. I associated them vaguely with his injuries, and looked away. I am sorry not to be more exact, but motives of delicacy forbid more than a passing glance at someone who is suffering from any physical disability.”

As Inspector Jackson said afterwards, “Well, if that’s what she can do with a casual glance, I don’t know that I would care to be what you might call put under the microscope.” At the time he merely pushed back his chair and got up.

“Well, I’ll just have a word with Mr. Craddock. We’d better have the number of his car. By the way, it seems he doesn’t keep it up at the regular garage where the Miss Tremletts live, though there’s plenty of room there. Can you tell us anything about that, Miss Silver?”

“I can give you the explanation that was given to me. Mr. Craddock has his study in the main block of the house, which is quite shut off from this wing, since a good deal of it is not considered safe. His work demands privacy and quiet. I understand that he is engaged in the study of planetary influences upon plant and animal life, and this necessitates many vigils on the lonely commons and in the woods in which this neighbourhood abounds, though I believe he sometimes goes quite far afield. In order not to disturb the Miss Tremletts, he has had one of the damaged rooms in the main block roughly adapted to serve as a garage. It used, I believe, to be a garden-room, and it is conveniently placed with regard to the north drive, which goes off in an opposite direction to that by which you came in. He can thus come and go at all hours of the day or night without disturbing anyone.”

“And without anyone knowing whether he’s in or out. Very convenient indeed.” Inspector Jackson ’s tone was rather marked.

He moved in the direction of the door, and then back again. “This man Craddock, Miss Silver-you’ve been living in the house with him. You’ve had opportunities we haven’t got, and can’t get. You see him when he isn’t putting up a show-trying to impress. Well, how does he strike you? Is he just a windbag, or is there something there? I’ve met his kind before. Sometimes they’ve got everything in the shop window, and sometimes they haven’t.”

Miss Silver’s small, neat features had assumed a very serious look, her voice when she spoke had a very serious tone.

“You say, Inspector, that I am in a position to judge of Mr. Craddock when he is not putting up a show or trying to impress. I doubt very much whether there is anyone who is in such a position.”

Frank Abbott put in, “You mean you think he’s acting all the time?”

“To a very great extent. A picture is being presented. It is possible that he believes in it himself. I am not sure upon this point. He receives a great deal of quite fulsome adulation from the Miss Tremletts. The lady who calls herself Miranda appears to admire him and to have come here on his account. Mr. Remington is, I think, rather jealous of him, but that is in itself a tribute. His wife, who speaks of him always as Mr. Craddock, appears to be in a state of trembling awe. I have never heard her use his Christian name. Their rooms are at opposite ends of this wing. Jennifer, who is the eldest of the three children-she is nearly thirteen-used, I am told, to adore her step-father. She now hates and fears him. She is a sensitive girl, and she is in a highly nervous state. The other two are robust little boys, and I do not think they have very much feeling for him one way or another. He talks a good deal about self-expression, but if the children get in his way he can be severe. He is greedy about his food, intolerant of opposition, and continually finds fault with Mrs. Craddock.”

Inspector Jackson pursued up his mouth as if he was going to whistle, and then thought better of it.

“Well, that’s pretty sweeping. But it’s not to say he’d rob a bank.”

“No, Inspector.”

“Any of the children his?”

“No.”

“Inspector Abbott tells me there was something about a boat upsetting, and some mushrooms that weren’t the real thing. Where did the information come from?”

“From Mrs. Craddock.”

“She has money?”

“Yes.”

“Tied up on the children?”

“Yes-she told me that.”

“Any sign that she thought her husband had a hand in either of those affairs?”

Miss Silver took a little time before she said,

“I could not say. She was distressed and upset. She takes pains at all times to assure me, and perhaps herself, that the children are very fortunate to have such a step-father. I do not think that I can tell you any more than that.”

Jackson said in a meditative tone,

“If he had red hair-”

Frank Abbott laughed.

“Well, he hasn’t. And if he had, it wouldn’t mean a thing.” Then, as Miss Silver looked from one to the other, “The fellow in the Enderby Green hold-up had red hair. You remember, I told you about it. The bank manager was shot dead-the same technique as yesterday’s job at Ledlington. But the eighteen-year-old clerk was luckier than poor Wayne -he is just out of hospital. And about the only thing he seems sure about is that the murderer had red hair. Everything else beautifully medium and unobtrusive, but quite noticeable red hair. So if there is one thing that everyone else can feel sure about, it is that the hair was just as much a disguise as yesterday’s bandages, and he won’t be found wearing it in private life. Then young Smithers says he had a muffler wound twice about his neck and covering him pretty well up to the ears, and he couldn’t say whether there was a beard under it or not. I wonder if there was.”

Jackson said,

“Well, if he was all that wrapped up, I don’t see how the clerk could see that his hair was red.”

“I should say it was meant to be seen. Anyhow Smithers says he saw it-says he’ll swear to it. And a lot of good that is going to be!” He threw out a hand. “All right, Jackson, you go and try your hand on Craddock. Find out where he was at three o’clock in the afternoon on the third of January-if you can. I’ll come along when I’m through.”

Inspector Jackson turned to the door again. He said, “Thank you, Miss Silver,” and went out of the room.

Miss Silver was reflecting that Miss Gwyneth Tremlett’s description of Mr. Sandrow had included red hair and a red beard, and that she had repeated this description to Frank Abbott.