“All right-it was rather-I’m sorry.”

“What had you in mind as Niagara? Perhaps you would like to elucidate.”

She gave him another of those looks.

“What’s the good? Perhaps it isn’t Niagara, only an endless sticky swamp for us all to drown in.”

“It sounds revolting. Darling, don’t you think you’d better get it off your chest? I don’t feel I can cope with any more metaphors at the moment.”

She pulled her hand away and swung round, facing him.

“All right, let’s have it out. Either Lois committed suicide, or someone murdered her. If it’s suicide, Jimmy’s never going to get over it-I don’t see how he can. He’s always going to think he drove her to it. Of course it’s irrational and insensate to the last degree, but people don’t reason about these things, they feel them. We’ve both known Jimmy all our lives. You know, and I know, how he’s going to feel this-how he is feeling it. That’s one alternative. The other is murder. Well, then, who did it? The way Jimmy is going on, any policeman in the world is going to pick on him. We know he didn’t do it. But he could have done it-you know that too. He had the motive, and the opportunity and everything, and if it turns out she’s left him a lot of money, they’ll be quite sure he did it. That frightens me more than anything.”

Antony said in a hard, angry voice,

“Don’t talk nonsense! It wasn’t Jimmy!”

“Of course it wasn’t. I’m talking about the police, not about us. Jimmy rang up Lois’ solicitors this afternoon. Did you know that? The Chief Inspector asked him to. Jimmy spoke to them, and then he did. They’re sending down a copy of Lois’ will-Jimmy told me. I’m horribly frightened.”

Antony said, “Don’t be a fool! It’s ten to one the money goes back to her first husband’s relations. Doesn’t Jimmy know?”

“No, he doesn’t. He didn’t like her having so much money, you know. It upset him a good deal when he found out how much it was. The case wasn’t settled when they were married-not till about six months afterwards. He didn’t like it at all, and he didn’t want to know anything about what she did with it. Ridiculous of course, but-well, that’s Jimmy. Only of course the police don’t know what he’s like, so they’ll think-”

“Rather jumping at conclusions, aren’t you?”

“Yes-I’m an idiot. It all keeps going round and round in my head. It looks as if the best thing that could happen now is for the police to believe that it’s suicide-and then what happens to Jimmy? Because if it’s murder-it’s one of us.”

Antony said quietly,

“You know, Julia, you can’t hold your tongue about Manny-you’ll have to tell the police. She did what she did, and she’ll have to take the consequences. If she did anything more she’ll have to take the consequences of that too. I’m not going to see Jimmy accused of murdering his wife just to save Manny, and that’s flat. If she poisoned that coffee she’ll have to go through with it. I don’t believe that Lois committed suicide, and I never shall. Nothing would convince me that she did. Why should she? Since we are talking about it, let us be perfectly plain. She hadn’t any motive for suicide. She didn’t care a snap of her fingers for Jimmy. He provided her with a good social position, and an attractive house in which to entertain her friends. At the time she married him there was a disputed will between her and her first husband’s money. If it had come into court, she wasn’t at all sure of the result, and-she was on the rocks financially. That’s why she married Jimmy. She as good as told me so. Do you suppose she’d have killed herself because he found her out? Not she! And as to any other motive, she cared no more for me than she did for Jimmy.”

“I wonder-”

“You needn’t. She was bored, she was angry with Jimmy, she was annoyed because I had no intention of being whistled to heel, and she didn’t take kindly to being crossed-you may have noticed that. But as for her having any real feeling for me, the idea is fantastic. Lois was very much too fond of Lois to do her an injury for any man alive.”

She did not speak, but she did not need to. What she might have said was there between them. He felt her holding to it obstinately. When the silence had lasted long enough he said in the voice that meant he had made up his mind,

“It wasn’t suicide. Someone poisoned her: If it wasn’t Manny, who was it? You? Jimmy? Ellie? Minnie? That’s the field. Which are you going to put your money on? We know who the police are backing. As things stand, they can’t do anything else. It’s gone quite far enough. If you don’t see Manny and tell her so, I will. The best thing would be for her to go and tell the police herself, but-they’ve got to be told.”

The sense of resistance ceased between them. One minute it was there, as hard and solid as a wall, with Julia on one side of it and he on the other. And then all at once it yielded and was gone. She looked at him and said in a soft, breathless voice,

“Tomorrow- Antony, please-I can’t do it tonight-”

She had the most extraordinary power to move him. That look in her eyes, that tone in her voice, and he was ready to commit almost any folly, go down on his knees, take her in his arms, tell her-What could he tell here-and now? He was astonished at himself and at her-astonished at how hard it was to hold back all those things which clamoured in him. What a moment to speak of love! A harsh determination sounded in his voice. He said,

“Tomorrow will do.”

He saw her eyes mist over, and turned his own away. All at once she leaned towards him, pressing her face against the stuff of his sleeve. After a moment he put his arm round her and held her like that. They sat there for a long time without speaking.

Julia woke up suddenly, and wondered what had waked her. She thought it must have been Ellie crying out in her sleep as she sometimes did, not loudly but with a catch of the breath like a sob. She spoke her name gently,

“Ellie-”

There was no answer. She listened, and could hear from her soft, regular breathing that Ellie was asleep. She might have cried out and yet have been asleep. She thought, “It’s so strange-we don’t know where anyone is when he is asleep. I don’t even know about Ellie. I don’t always know where I’ve been myself.” She had the feeling of having come up out of a dream which had left her only at the moment of waking. All that remained of it was a longing to go back again, to escape from the things which waited for them all in the day to come.

She wondered what time it was. She thought between two and three in the morning. The room was dark, but the two windows hung on the darkness like pictures on a black wall. The pictures showed an even tinge of gloom, like very old paintings in which all detail is lost and only the main mass of light and shade remains. But here there was nothing which could be called light. There were gradations in the shadow, that was all. Because she had slept in this room for as long as she could remember, she knew that in the blackest part of the shadow there were the shapes of trees, and that it became less dense as the branches thinned away towards the sky. It must be very dark outside, because she could not see any line where foliage ended and cloud began.

She had risen on her elbow, the bedclothes pushed down to her waist, her hair pushed back. Now she lay down again, smoothing the sheet, pulling the pillow round a little. It was all right, Ellie was asleep. If anything had waked her, it must have been one of those night sounds which are common enough in the country-the cry of a bird, the bark of a fox, a badger calling. She had heard them all, lying here in this bed, on many nights running back through many years.

She put her head on the pillow, and the sound which had waked her came again. It wasn’t badger, bird, or fox. It was the sound of a hand brushing over the outer panel of the door. She sat up, listening, and heard it still. It isn’t a sound like anything else, it isn’t a sound that you can mistake. A hand was groping at the door-sliding over it, softly, whisperingly.