“Did you hear any more?”

She said, “I’m not one to listen.”

“Of course you’re not. But you might have happened to hear something before you shut the door. You did, didn’t you?”

“Well, I did. There was a piece about his turning everything out, looking for a memma something or other his mother left him. I remember that because it rhymed with Emma.”

“Memorandum?”

“That’s right.”

The terror in her was lulled. All this was easy, and no more than gospel truth. She was all right so long as she told the truth and kept away from Cyril. She had a picture in her mind of Cyril in the kitchen fiddling with the knobs of the wireless, and herself a long way off at the study door. Instinct told her to stay there and make as much of it as she could- the same instinct which sets a bird to trail a wounded wing and trick a cat away from its nest. She repeated the Superintendent’s suggestion.

“Memma-randum. Something his mother left for him, and when he was looking for it he’d found Miss Rietta’s letters and-something else.”

“What else?”

“I couldn’t see-the door wasn’t open more than an inch. By what he said, it was a will, sir. Seemed he was showing it to Miss Rietta. And she said, ‘How absurd!’ and Mr. Lessiter laughed and said it was rather. And then he said, ‘Everything to Henrietta Cray, the White Cottage, Melling.’ ”

“You definitely heard him say that to Miss Cray?”

“Oh, yes, sir.” Her look was unwavering and truthful.

“Did you hear anything more?”

“Yes, sir. I wouldn’t have stayed, but I was that taken aback. I heard him say he’d never made another will. ‘So, if young Carr was to murder me tonight you’d come in for quite a tidy fortune.’ That’s what he said, and it give me the creeps all down my back-I don’t know what I felt like. And I pulled the door to and come back to the kitchen.”

The Superintendent said, “H’m-” And then, “Who is young Carr?”

“Miss Rietta’s nephew, Mr. Carr Robertson.”

“Why should he want to murder Mr. Lessiter-do you know of any reason?”

“No, sir, I don’t.”

“You don’t know of any quarrel between them?”

“No, sir-” She hesitated.

“Yes, Mrs. Mayhew?”

“Mrs. Fallow-she helps here, and she goes to Miss Cray Saturdays-she passed the remark only yesterday that it was funny Mr. Lessiter never coming down here these twenty years and not knowing scarcely anyone in the village, after being born and brought up here. And I said there wasn’t hardly anyone would know him by sight, and she said, ‘That’s right,’ and she brought in Mr. Carr’s name. Seems she’d heard him say he wouldn’t know Mr. Lessiter if he was to meet him-but I don’t know how he come to say it.”

The Superintendent said, “H’m-” again. He may have suspected a red herring. He brought Mrs. Mayhew firmly back to the events of the night before.

“You returned to the kitchen without hearing any more. That would be at something after nine?”

“Yes, sir-the news was on.”

Sweat broke on her temples. She didn’t ought to have said that, she didn’t. Cyril fiddling with knobs-Cyril turning on the news-

“You’d left the wireless running?”

The flush burned in her cheeks, her feet were like ice. She said,

“Yes, sir-it’s company.”

“Did you go back to the study again later?”

She nodded.

“I thought I would.”

“What time would that be?”

“A quarter to ten. I thought Miss Rietta would be gone.”

“Did you see Mr. Lessiter then?”

“No-” It was just a whisper, because it came over her that when she opened the study door that second time Mr. Lessiter might have been dead, and if she had opened it a little farther and gone in she might have seen him lying there across the table with his head smashed.

It wasn’t Cyril-it wasn’t Cyril-it wasn’t Cyril!

“What did you do?”

“I opened the door like I did before, quiet. There wasn’t anyone talking. I thought, ‘Miss Rietta’s gone,’ and I opened the door a little farther. Then I see Miss Rietta’s coat lying across a chair.”

“How do you know it was hers?”

“There was a bit of the lining turned back-a kind of a plaid with a yellow stripe. It’s Mr. Carr’s coat really-an old one he leaves at the Cottage. Miss Rietta will wear it if she feels that way.”

“Go on.”

“I shut the door and come away.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I thought Miss Rietta hadn’t gone. The room was all quiet. I thought-”

It was plain enough what she had thought. Everyone in the village knew that James Lessiter and Rietta Cray had been young lovers. Everyone would have thought it quite right and proper if they had come together again. The Superintendent decided that Mrs. Mayhew was speaking the truth. He wondered if she had anything more to tell. She had an uncertain look, her hands fidgeted in her lap. He said,

“Well-what is it?”

Mrs. Mayhew moistened her lips.

“It was the raincoat, sir-I couldn’t help but notice-”

“What did you notice?”

“The sleeve was hanging down so I couldn’t help but see it.”

“What did you see?”

Mrs. Mayhew said in a trembling voice,

“It was the cuff-it was all over blood-”

Between eleven and twelve o’clock Superintendent Drake made his way to the White Cottage. Miss Cray was at home. She received him in the dining-room, very pale, very much under control. Sizing her up from between his red eyelashes, he considered that she might have done it, but if she had, he would have expected her to keep her head and not go leaving her raincoat for anyone to see. If she had left it. Perhaps she hadn’t-perhaps she was still in the room when the housekeeper opened the door the second time. Mrs. Mayhew said she had seen the coat at a quarter to ten with blood on the sleeve, but it wasn’t there in the morning when Mayhew discovered the body. It might have been removed at any moment between those times. If Miss Cray was still in the room at a quarter to ten she could have taken it when she left. If she had already gone she could have come back for it later-she, or the nephew.

He had these things in his mind as he took the chair she offered him and sat down. Constable Whitcombe sat down too, took out a notebook, arranged himself for writing.

Drake watched her closely when he introduced James Lessiter’s name. Her face did not change.

“You have heard of Mr. Lessiter’s death?”

He got a quiet, rather deep-toned “Yes.”

“When did you hear of it, Miss Cray-and how?”

“Mrs. Welby came over. She had heard of it from the milkman.”

“He hadn’t let you know?”

“He calls here before he goes to Melling House.”

“You were very much shocked and surprised?”

“Yes.”

The dining-table was between them. His chair was turned sideways. He shifted it now so as to face her more directly.

“Miss Cray, can you give me an account of your movements last night?”

“My movements?”

He was conscious of a slight feeling of satisfaction. When anyone repeated what you had said, it meant just one thing, whether it was man or woman. It meant that they were rattled, and that they were playing for time. He thought Miss Rietta Cray would do with a bit of a jolting. He proceeded to jolt her.

“You have your nephew staying with you-Mr. Carr Robertson? And a friend of his-?”

Rietta Cray supplied the name.

“Frances Bell.”

“I’d like to know what you were all doing last night.”

“We were here.”

“You didn’t leave the house-are you quite sure about that? Mrs. Mayhew states that she heard Mr. Lessiter address you by name when she went to the study door just before nine.”

The bright colour of anger came into her cheeks. Her grey eyes blazed. Had the Superintendent been a student of the classics, he might have been reminded of Virgil’s famous line about the “very goddess.” Not knowing it, he nevertheless received a general impression that Miss Cray was a high-tempered lady and a surprisingly handsome one. And he thought he had jolted her all right. But she fixed a steady gaze on him as she said,