“Not in the least. She seemed just as usual.”

“You must remember that I had not the pleasure of her acquaintance. Will you do your best to give me an idea of her usual manner?”

Julia frowned.

“I didn’t like her,” she said bluntly-“I expect you know that. You’ve seen her photographs. She was very good-looking. Everything about her was very finished-her hair, her skin, her nails-her manner. Everything in perfect control. If I’m cross or rude, it’s because I’m tired, or I’m unhappy, or I’m angry. If I quarrel with anyone, it just happens. Lois wasn’t like that. If she was rude, it was because she meant to be rude. Things didn’t just happen with her-she made them happen. I daresay I’m not being fair to her-you can’t really be fair when you dislike anyone. I looked at her through my dislike. I’m telling you how I saw her.”

Miss Silver gazed thoughtfully in her direction.

“Control?”

Julia nodded.

“Yes-all the time. I don’t think she ever let up.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“She caught you up on the stairs. Had you any conversation with her?”

“She talked about Jimmy.”

“Will you tell me exactly what she said-word for word if you can?”

Julia pushed back her hair. The scene rose in her mind, a picture on a lighted screen. Lois catching her up. Lois talking about Jimmy. The words spoke themselves again. She repeated them.

“She said, ‘Another lively meal. You’ll have to help us through. You know, I’m really worried about Jimmy. We’ve had a row. Everybody in the house must know that by now, the way he’s advertizing it.’ I said something-I don’t know what it was. And she said, ‘He looks awful. I’ve never seen him like this before-have you?’ I said, ‘Not quite so bad,’ and she said, ‘Well, I wish he’d come off it. It’s giving me the creeps-’ ” She stopped.

Miss Silver said, “Was that all?”

“Yes.”

“At that time were you aware of the reason for the quarrel between them? Did you know of the scene in Mr. Antony Latter’s room on Monday night?”

“No.”

“You thought it was an ordinary quarrel?”

“I thought it was about old Hodson’s cottage. Lois had been telling a lot of lies to get him out of it, and Jimmy had found her out. Hodson stopped him in the road and told him. I was there.”

“You thought that was enough to account for the breach between them?”

“I thought it was enough to account for a pretty bad quarrel. Jimmy hates lies. And he worshipped Lois-he thought she was an angel. It was a pretty bad shock.”

Miss Silver said, “I see-” She knitted for a while in silence, and then said suddenly and directly, “Miss Vane, you are very intelligent. You were in contact with these people immediately before the poisoning took place. You say Mrs. Latter was as usual. Did that continue throughout the meal?”

“Yes. She talked-chiefly to me, sometimes to Ellie.”

“What did she talk about?”

“A play I had seen. She asked me if it was good. I made the subject last as long as possible. She told a story about some friends of hers taking a house and not being able to get the previous tenants out. It was just talk, you know.”

“And Mr. Latter?”

“He sat there. He didn’t talk, and he didn’t eat.”

“Mrs. Latter did both?”

“Oh, yes.”

With every word the weight on Julia’s heart grew heavier. She had held nothing back. And what did it go to prove? Could she herself believe that Lois meant to take her own life-that as she talked, as she ate and drank, she knew that she had only an hour or two to live? It wasn’t possible. Jimmy’s image rose-his pallid face, his reddened eyes, the hand which shook as he tilted the whisky decanter. The worst fear she had known came in like a flood.

Miss Silver said quickly, “Are you all right?”

Julia said, “Yes. But that’s all. I don’t know any more.”

She got up and went out of the room.

One of her short sentences remained, to burn like a small, clear light in Miss Silver’s mind.

Miss Silver waited until the house was quiet that night. Then she got out of bed and set the door ajar. If there was to be any more sleep-walking, she wished to make sure of being an interested spectator. If she had come out of her room a little sooner the night before she would certainly not have permitted Miss Vane to intervene. Miss Mercer had had some purpose in her mind. It would have been interesting to discover what that purpose was. It had roused her from her bed, and had taken her to the foot of the stairs. If Miss Vane had not checked her there, it might have taken her a good deal farther. Perhaps as far as the drawing-room. She was certainly facing in that direction.

Miss Silver looked at her watch by the light of the bedside lamp. It was half-past eleven. She was in her dressing-gown, her hair neatly coiled under a rather stronger net than the one she wore by day. She had had the dressing-gown since before the war, a circumstance upon which she congratulated herself. It would be some time before materials returned to that standard. To the pre-war price, she feared, they would never return. This crimson wool, so light, so warm, so durable, would however last for quite a number of years, and the handmade crochet with which it was trimmed, and which was now in its second tour of service, would still be available for further use. Crochet really did wear remarkably well. It would certainly trim another dressing-gown. Perhaps next time she would choose a nice deep blue. She put her slippers handy and got into bed, arranging the pillows so that she could sit up comfortably, and reflected with gratitude that her excellent hearing would immediately inform her if any of the other bedroom doors were to open.

Prepared at all points, she now allowed herself to review the progress of events. They were not satisfactory. They were not progressing in a manner at all favourable to her client. The Chief Inspector had, indeed, been in two minds as to making an immediate arrest. Whilst deprecating this course, she could not deny that the circumstantial evidence against Mr. Latter had accumulated in a very formidable manner. She could not really have blamed the Chief Inspector if he had decided to make the arrest. Yet in the end he had made up his mind to await the result of the inquest. A relief. But the time was short, very short indeed. It would have been so very much pleasanter if the arrest could have been avoided. The publicity would be so very painful for Mr. Latter. There was just the chance that tonight’s vigil might bring something to light. That there were hidden thoughts and motives, actions still screened from view, she was assured. How far they reached, what part they had played or still might play, she did not know, but the feeling of secrecy was there.

As she sat in the half-darkened room with the house so still about her, she turned her thoughts first to one and then to another of the people sheltered there. Some would be sleeping. Did the sleeping thought give up its secrets? Some would be awake-in fear, in grief, in torment. She thought of them one by one-Jimmy Latter-his cousin Antony – Julia Vane- Ellie Street -Minnie Mercer-Gladys Marsh- Mrs. Maniple-the little pale kitchenmaid Polly Pell-

The clock in the hall downstairs struck twelve-first four strokes to mark the house, and then after a pause twelve more, the strokes solemnly spaced, not noisy or ringing but with a quiet, deep tone which enriched the silence of the house without jarring it. If anyone slept, it would not waken him. If anyone waked, it would be a friendly, companionable sound.

Of the nine people at Latter End only Miss Silver counted the twelve strokes on this particular night. Jimmy Latter would say in the morning that he had not slept. There is a borderland state in which, whilst consciousness remains, control is lost. The mind drifts without aim or rest. In a shifting world between waking and sleeping his thoughts had slipped the leash and went questing after shadows, themselves too shadowy to know what they followed or why they followed it. Only always there was the sense of strain, of effort, of something lost beyond recall, of fevered striving to bring back what was gone. Shadow play on the broken surface of consciousness-broken shadows passing, dissolving, coming again-nothing stable-nothing clearly seen-just shadows-