“You are not, I suppose, overlooking the fact that Gladys Marsh will also have to swear that Mrs. Latter knew where she could lay her hands upon that morphia?”

Lamb frowned. He drew his fingers up into a bunch, and then suddenly spread them out again as if he were letting something go. He said in a bluff voice,

“One for you, and one for me-is that it?”

Miss Silver’s needles clicked. She said primly,

“The implication that we are taking sides is not one which I can accept, either for myself or for you, Chief Inspector.”

He said, “Well, well-” and turned to Frank Abbott. “We’d better be getting a move on. Tell Miss Mercer I want to ask her a few questions.”

Whilst they were waiting he picked up a stick of sealing-wax and began to fidget with it. When presently it snapped in his hand he turned to Miss Silver with an abrupt movement and said,

“You’re a very obstinate woman, you know.”

She allowed her eyes to meet his with a faint smile in them.

“I hope not.”

“No good hoping.”

“Obstinacy is an impediment to the free exercise of thought. It paralyses the intelligence. Conclusions based upon preconceived ideas are valueless. It is only the open mind that really thinks. I endeavour to keep my mind open.”

He turned back to the sealing-wax, picked up the two bits, frowned at his own attempt to make the broken ends fit, glanced suddenly over his shoulder, and said,

“Look here, have you got anything up your sleeve?”

“Nothing whatever, I assure you.”

“You haven’t got the murderer there by any chance?”

“No, indeed.”

He threw down the sealing-wax and turned to face her.

“If it comes to a trial, defence will be suicide. The way things are shaping, it lies between the husband and wife. They both knew about the morphia. Either he gave it to her, or she took it herself. You’ve read all the statements, and you’ve been mixing with the family in a way the police don’t get a chance of doing. You’ve talked with them, I don’t doubt, and you’ve formed an opinion of Mrs. Latter from what they’ve said. I don’t suppose it’s very different from the opinion I’ve formed myself. Without any beating about the bush- are you going to tell me you think it’s at all likely that she committed suicide?”

“Likely? No. But unlikely things do happen, Chief Inspector.”

“Are you going to tell me that in your opinion she did commit suicide?”

She said, “No-” in a very thoughtful tone. And then, “Pray do not misunderstand me. I have at this time no opinion to offer-I have an open mind. I agree with you that Mrs. Latter does not sound at all the sort of person who would be likely to commit suicide, and I agree that if she had been going to do so she would have been much more likely to take the morphia after she had gone to bed. But, as I said, unlikely things do happen, especially when people have suffered a shock or some violent mental disturbance. We really do not know much about Mrs. Latter’s state of mind. Externally she was a hard, spoiled woman with a habit of getting her own way, but we do not know what was going on underneath. It has been rather stressed that her feeling for Mr. Antony was of a wilful and casual nature, and that in her pursuit of him she was actuated by anger against her husband and a desire to punish him. Mr. Antony specially stressed this point of view. It is, of course, quite natural that he should do so. He is very much attached to his cousin, and he desires to minimize the importance of what took place on Monday night by representing it as a sudden angry whim. But it is quite possible that Mrs. Latter’s feeling for him may have been of a much more serious character. She was a woman who was not accustomed to being crossed. Suppose her to have been actuated by one of those dangerous passions which so often precipitate a tragedy-suppose her to have become aware that she has a rival in Miss Vane. This would be a very formidable combination. What happens? She is not only refused, but the refusal occurs in her husband’s presence, and in circumstances calculated to give a very violent shock to her self-respect. I remember many years ago being very much impressed by the statement that crimes of violence by women are apt to follow directly upon some sudden lowering of their self-respect.”

Lamb said, “That’s right enough. Well, you say you haven’t got an opinion, but it seems to me you’ve been giving me one.”

She made a slight negative gesture.

“It is merely a theory, Chief Inspector. It is not an opinion. ”

As Minnie Mercer seated herself in the chair recently occupied by Gladys Marsh, it is probable that each of the other three people present was visited by a sense of contrast. Miss Mercer not only looked ill and strained, but she had an appearance of fragility which rather alarmed the Chief Inspector. Her eyes had a haunting look of distress. She folded her hands in her lap and leaned against the high back of the chair.

Lamb was leaning back too, his pose easy, his manner quiet. He had obviously no desire to alarm Miss Mercer. “Just a few questions,” was what he had said as she came into the room. He waited now until she was settled, and then said,

“You’ve been a long time at Latter End?”

There was an almost inaudible “Yes.”

“Twenty-five years?”

“Yes.”

“Never thought of leaving?”

A still more inaudible “No.”

“But you are leaving now-or shall we say you were leaving at the time of Mrs. Latter’s death?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Her hands took hold of one another.

“Mrs. Latter was making other arrangements.”

“She gave you notice.”

There may have been a purpose behind the bluntness of his speech. It brought a faint colour to her cheeks. There was a gentle dignity in her manner as she answered him.

“It was not quite like that. Mrs. Street and I had been doing the housework between us, owing to the difficulty of getting any staff. It was a temporary arrangement. Mrs. Latter-” her voice caught on the name-“Mrs. Latter had succeeded in finding a butler and two maids.”

He looked at her shrewdly.

“You haven’t answered my question, have you? Let me put it another way. Did Mrs. Latter ask you to leave, or did the suggestion come from you?”

The faint flush was gone. It is always rather horrifying to see a fair skin quite drained of colour. She opened her lips to speak, and shut them again.

“Well, Miss Mercer?”

Her lips parted. This time she had found words.

“My work here was over.”

Lamb said, “Yes-I suppose so. Now, to go back a little- what was your position here before Mr. Latter’s marriage?”

“It is rather difficult to say. I looked after the house. I- until Mrs. Street married and Miss Vane went away to do war work-I-there were two young girls in the house- they needed someone after their mother died-”

“You took Mrs. Vane’s place?”

She said, with warmth in her voice for the first time,

“No one could do that. I did what I could.”

“Would you say that you were on the same footing as a relation would have been, running the house, looking after the two girls?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“But you received a salary?”

Colour in her face again, quickly come, and very quickly gone.

“Yes.”

“Have you any private means?”

“No.”

“Have you another post in view?”

She shook her head.

“What salary did you receive?”

“Sixty pounds-since Mrs. Vane’s death.”

A brief glance from Frank Abbott met his Chief’s. Sixty pounds a year-to cover those wartime years when wages and salaries had soared!

Lamb said bluntly,

“That’s very low. You didn’t think of asking for a rise?”

“Oh, no!”

If anyone had had the leisure to look in Miss Silver’s direction, it would have been observed that she was frowning, and that her lips were pressed together in a manner which suggested distaste. She was, in fact, exercising a considerable degree of restraint upon herself. She had a good deal of respect for the Chief Inspector, but sometimes he lacked the finer shades. Miss Mercer was a gentlewoman. This was no way to speak to a gentlewoman. Like David in the Psalms, she held her tongue, but it was pain and grief to her.