“It could have been Mr. Pearson?”

Frank Ambrose said in a casual voice,

“Oh, yes, it was Pearson, but I didn’t know that until afterwards.”

Miss Silver took occasion to look down the table in the direction of Albert Pearson. He was standing up straight with one hand in a pocket and the other on its way there. From the fact that it grasped a large white handkerchief she considered that he had been wiping his forehead. The greenish tint had gone from his skin. He had the air of a man who has been reprieved. She brought her glance slowly back again- the young constable, busy over his shorthand-Richard Paradine, standing up-Miss Paradine, very upright, very pale-Mr. Harrison a little more shocked than before-Frank Ambrose, with his look of a man at the end of his tether.

Behind her Vyner said,

“Will you go on, Mr. Ambrose.”

Everyone in the room was to remember the pause that followed. What must be said next would be irrevocable, because here was an eye-witness of James Paradine’s death. Whether confession or accusation, the words, once spoken, could never be recalled.

Frank Ambrose said in a tired, even tone,

“This room and my mother’s room next door are alike. I saw the glass door of my mother’s room swing open. Someone came out on to the terrace-”

“Not Mr. Pearson?”

“No, not Pearson. I heard the first stroke of the hour on the Orphanage clock up the road. A moment later my step-father came out from this room and walked across the terrace to the parapet. The person who had come out of my mother’s room followed him. I didn’t want to intrude. I stood where I was. I didn’t guess what was going to happen-you don’t think about things like that until they happen. I saw my step-father pushed, and I saw him fall. The person who had pushed him ran back into my mother’s room. It was all so sudden that I didn’t move. It seemed to happen faster than I could think. Then the rain came. I had a torch in my pocket. I got it out and ran up, flashing it over the terrace. The beam swung wide and caught Pearson at the bathroom window. He knew that I had seen him, but I didn’t know until just now that he had recognized me. I went and looked over the edge. It was pouring with rain-I couldn’t see a thing. I went down to the river path, and found my step-father lying there dead. When I was quite sure that he was dead I went home.”

There was another pause. Vyner said,

“You should have reported what you had seen to the police, Mr. Ambrose.”

Frank Ambrose assented wearily.

“Naturally.”

“If you did not, it was because you had some very strong motive for keeping silence?”

This time he got no answer.

“Mr. Ambrose-I have to ask you whether you recognized the person who came out of the late Mrs. Paradine’s room.”

Albert Pearson, standing stocky and obstinate at the end of the table, said in his most dogmatic manner,

“Of course he did. And so did I.”

Vyner turned a direct gaze upon him.

“You say that you recognized this person. Will you explain how? Mr. Ambrose has just stated that the light was not sufficient for him to recognize you until he turned the beam of his torch upon you.”

Albert nodded.

“There was a light on in the room she came out of-that’s how. I saw her when she came out, and I saw her when she went back. The light was right in her face.”

The pronoun was like an electric shock. Elliot Wray’s arm tightened about his wife. Lydia drew in her breath sharply. Vyner said,

“You say it was a woman?”

“Of course it was.”

“What woman?”

Frank Ambrose took a step forward. He said,

“Pearson-”

But Albert shook his head.

“It’s no good, Mr. Ambrose-you can’t cover it up. I’m not going to hang for her, and that’s that. You’d all like it that way-I know that. That’s why I monkeyed with the clock. I knew that if I hadn’t an alibi, you’d all be saying that I was the one who’d done something he’d got to confess to. But there’s nothing doing-not when it comes to hanging. I saw who it was that came out of that door, and you can’t get away from it.”

He turned to Vyner and said in a voice that was suddenly louder than he meant it to be,

“It was Miss Paradine.”

There was a shattering silence. Even the young constable lifted his head with a jerk and stared across his shorthand notes at the family amongst whom this bomb had fallen. His quick hazel eyes flicked over them. Mr. and Mrs. Wray, just opposite-gosh, he looked grim!-and she’d got her mouth open as if she was going to scream, only there wasn’t any sound. Miss Pennington and Mr. Mark Paradine-he looked bad, like a man looks when he’s been hit and you don’t know whether he’ll drop or not. The Super-well, was he expecting that, or wasn’t he-you couldn’t properly tell. That Miss Silver-well, you couldn’t tell about her either-a queer little cup of tea if ever there was one. Mr. Ambrose now-it wasn’t any surprise to him-he’d known it was coming all right-bad case of strain- he’d known all along-tried to cover it up. Well, when it came to your own family, he supposed most of us would.

All this in the oldest medium of all-the thought-pictures which invention has never managed to overtake. All the pictures were there in the brief moment in which he turned, as everyone else had turned, to look at Grace Paradine. She was sitting in her upright chair, and she had not moved. She had been too pale before to lose any colour now. Her hands had been lying in her lap. They lay there still. There was no measurable change or movement, but there was a dreadful effect of tension, of the lack of movement being due not to weakness, but to implacable control. What it was that was being controlled showed for a moment in her eyes-an indescribable look of… He couldn’t get any nearer to it than violence. He thought to himself with a kind of surprise, “Gosh-she did it!”

Miss Silver’s cough came into the silence. She leaned forward and spoke down the table to Elliot Wray.

“Mr. Wray-if I may make the suggestion-there is no need for Mrs. Wray to be here.”

Grace Paradine moved. She looked where Miss Silver was looking and allowed her eyes to dwell upon the ashy face against Elliot’s shoulder. Then she said in a deep, calm voice,

“Phyllida will stay.”

Elliot bent. His lips could be seen to move. Phyllida shook her head.

Grace Paradine said, “Since she has heard this monstrous accusation, I should like her to hear me answer it.” She turned to the Superintendent.

Through the giddiness which hung round her like a mist Phyllida could hear him warning her. The words that had been said to Albert Pearson were being said again-“anything you may say… taken down and used against you…” The room was full of that giddy mist. It came and went in waves. She couldn’t see anyone’s face. She let her head rest against Elliot’s shoulder and felt his arm hold her up.

Deep under all the dreadfulness was the feeling that he was there.

Miss Paradine listened composedly to the formal words. Then she said,

“Thank you, Superintendent. I am naturally most anxious to do anything I can to clear this matter up. I should have thought that such an accusation, coming from one who admits his own presence-”

Mr. Harrison, sitting beside her, leaned forward and said something in a low voice. She did not turn towards him, but made a slight negative movement with her head.

“Thank you-I very much prefer to speak. The accusation is, of course, fantastic. Mr. Pearson’s motive seems obvious.” Her glance rested for a moment upon the diamonds. “He admits to a manufactured alibi. He admits to being present when my brother fell. I really do not know what more you want.”

Vyner looked her straight in the face.

“There is another witness besides Mr. Pearson.” He turned abruptly. “Mr. Ambrose-”