There was a slow negative movement.

Miss Silver said briskly, ‘Let us be practical. When something has happened it is no use trying to remain in the past, or to refuse to accept what the present demands of us. I think Mr Harsch was your friend. He is dead, and you cannot bring him back. Mr Madoc is not dead – yet. He is alive, but he is in a very serious position. For some reason you have made up your mind that he shot Mr Harsch. I want you to tell me why you think so.’

Without turning round, without moving at all, Miss Brown repeated what they were all so tired of hearing.

‘I have nothing to say.’

Miss Silver sighed.

‘That is not at all practical, I am afraid. If Mr Madoc is guilty, your silence will not prove him innocent. There is a strong case against him. If he is innocent, any fact you can contribute will help to prove him so. One is not always the best judge of what is helpful to a person in whom one is interested. I beg of you to give me the chance of arriving at the truth. There is a good deal about this case which cannot be explained on the supposition of Mr Madoc’s guilt. Be frank with me, and I do not believe that you will regret it.’

Miss Brown continued to stare at a formless world through the distorting crystal of those unfallen tears. She made again the faint movement of the head which said ‘No.’

Miss Silver said in her quiet, pleasant voice, ‘You are making a grave mistake. Have you considered that the prosecution can call you as a witness, and that you can be compelled to speak? Even if you were prepared to refuse and to incur the penalty for contempt of court, your very refusal would tell most terribly against Mr Madoc. Prosecuting counsel would be able to put questions which, in the absence of an answer, would strengthen the case for the Crown. You have no means of escaping this. You cannot avoid being called as a witness.’

Miss Brown turned round with a sudden quick movement. The tears which had blinded her fell unregarded. Her eyes blazed with something like triumph. She said in her deep, full voice, ‘They can’t call me as a witness. I’m his wife.’

Miss Silver said, ‘Dear me!’ and then, ‘Pray let me beg you to sit down. It will be so much more comfortable for us both. I have always noticed that when a conversation of any importance is carried on standing it tends to become dramatic. Let me beg of you to be seated.’

Miss Brown walked over to a chair and sat down. Quite suddenly she was glad to do so. The stiffness had gone from her limbs, she felt relaxed and weak. She became aware that she had had very little food for days. She leaned back and shut her eyes. She heard Miss Silver leave the room, and presently she heard her come back again. A cup of soup was held to her lips. When she had drunk it she was encouraged in a kind, matter-of-fact way to partake of warmed-up mince and vegetables. After which she found Miss Silver looking at her in a friendly manner.

‘Now why did you not tell Sergeant Abbott what you have just told me?’

‘I don’t know.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘It was not very wise. But when one has kept a secret for a long time it tends to become a habit.’

Miss Brown said, ‘Yes.’

‘Will you tell me when you were married, and where? There must be proof, or you cannot be protected from giving evidence.’

‘Five years ago – in London – the Marylebone Register Office – June 17th. We didn’t give it out because he was waiting for a job. We couldn’t really afford to get married, but we were very much in love. It wasn’t anyone’s business but our own. He had his sister to support. I went on with my work, and he went on with his. We met when we could. Sometimes there were weekends.’ She spoke in short, detached sentences, and in an absent voice as if she were looking back over those five years and remembering bit by bit. What no one could have known was just how much relief it brought her to remember and to speak.

She pushed back her heavy hair and let her hands fall again in her lap.

‘We quarrelled of course. We weren’t young enough to live that sort of life. When you are not young you want a home, companionship – everything that is normal. We couldn’t have it. Somebody else got the job that he was hoping for. He couldn’t support me unless he stopped supporting his sister. He couldn’t do that. The quarrels got worse. He has a very bad temper, but I could have managed if we had had a normal life. We couldn’t have it. It all came to an end about three years ago. He didn’t even write. Then I heard he had got this government job. I thought if we could meet again. But I couldn’t leave my post – I couldn’t afford to do that. Then the old lady I was with died and left me some money – enough to have made all the difference if it had come before. I went on thinking about coming here. A friend of mine helped me to meet Miss Fell, and I came here just over a year ago. At first I thought it was going to be all right. Then we quarrelled again. He began to make scenes about Mr Harsch.’ She pushed back her hair again and looked wretchedly at Miss Silver. ‘There wasn’t any reason for it – there wasn’t indeed. We talked about music, and sometimes about Evan – we both loved him. But he is so difficult. I think he was jealous of both of us. That evening he knew Mr Harsch had gone to the church to play the organ. He came down to see if I was there, and he took my key just as that boy says he did.

And I don’t know – I don’t know what happened after that.’

‘Then we must find out,’ said Miss Silver in a brisk, and cheerful voice.

WHO IS EZRA Pincott?’ enquired Miss Silver. She had the mild expectant look of a teacher addressing her class. For the moment this consisted of Miss Fell, Major Albany, and Miss Janice Meade. Miss Brown had been persuaded to go to bed. Her absence was felt to be a relief.

All three of them said, ‘Ezra Pincott?’

‘Dear me,’ said Miss Silver, ‘there seems to be a great many Pincotts in Bourne.’

There was nothing in her manner to show that she had already acquired a considerable amount of information about the Pincotts in general and about Ezra in particular.

Miss Sophy stopped pouring out tea, but kept the teapot poised.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Old Jeremiah Pincott had eighteen children. Susannah Bush is one of them, and they have mostly had large families themselves. Not Susannah – she has only two without counting the twins who died. Jeremiah was a well-to-do farmer, but Ezra is the son of his brother Hezekiah who ran away to sea.’

‘He’s the local bad hat,’ said Garth.

Miss Silver accepted a cup of tea, produced her own bottle of saccharin, and dropped in one tablet.

‘I see-’ she said. And then, ‘I should like very much to speak to him.’

Garth laughed.

‘Then you’d better let me catch him for you tomorrow before the pubs are open.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘He drinks?’

‘As much as he can get. What do you want him for?’

He wondered if he was going to be snubbed, but it appeared that the teacher would answer his question.

‘I hear he was boasting last night in the Black Bull that he knew something that would put money in his pocket. No names were mentioned, but I received the impression that the reference was to Mr Harsch and the manner of his death. You do not think it would be possible for me to see him before tomorrow?’

‘I don’t think so. You see, he’s by way of working for Giles who farms the land on the other side of the Church Cut. The minute he gets off he goes down to the Bull and stays there till it shuts. The only time I could get hold of him for you would be during his dinner hour – that is, if you want him sober.’

Miss Silver looked grave.

‘I should prefer it. I should also prefer to see him today, but it cannot be helped.’ She coughed and continued, ‘I should also be glad to have some information about Gladys Brewer.’