Miss Silver listened with close attention. At this point she coughed.

“How did you come to forget your coat, Miss Cray? It was surely a very cold night.”

The fine grey eyes met hers with perfect candour.

“I never thought about it.”

“You came out into the cold and forgot that you had left your coat?”

“Yes, I really did.”

“I am not doubting that, but I should like to know what made it possible for you to forget. You left Mr. Lessiter and came out into the cold without noticing it. Did you leave him alive?”

The angry colour came to Rietta’s face.

“Of course I did!”

“Did you part on friendly terms?”

Rietta’s head was high.

“No, we didn’t. I was angry. That’s how I came to forget my coat.”

“What were you angry about?”

“He made me angry. It was nothing to do-with this, or with Carr.”

Miss Silver gazed at her with mild persistence.

“Did he make love to you?”

“No-no-it wasn’t anything like that. It was a business matter-not even my own business. It concerned a friend.”

Miss Silver continued to gaze for a moment. Then she stooped down and unwound some lengths of pale blue wool from the ball lying beside her chair. Resuming her knitting, she enquired with the air of one who changes an unwelcome subject,

“You say that you were called to the telephone while Mr. Carr and Miss Bell were looking at the papers left by Mr. Ainger. Since the question of time may be involved, perhaps the person who called you up could corroborate you on this point.”

“Fancy says it was twenty past eight. She listens incessantly to the wireless, so she always knows the time. She says Carr and I went out at half past eight.”

Miss Silver beamed.

“Your caller could corroborate that. Who was it?”

“It was Catherine Welby.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“And you were talking for ten minutes. Miss Cray-what were you talking about?”

Rietta felt as if she had missed a step in the dark. There should have been something solid under her foot, but it wasn’t there. The colour drained away from her face. Concealment is an art which requires much practice. She had never acquired it. She looked helplessly at Miss Silver and beat about in her mind for something to say. She found nothing better than,

“We were talking.”

“On a matter of business?”

“I suppose you might call it that.”

“Connected with Mr. Lessiter?”

Rietta said, “Oh-”

She was so plainly taken aback that Miss Silver was answered. She knitted rapidly whilst a number of small circumstances came together in her mind-Catherine Welby’s pallor and her look of strain; the fact that James Lessiter had walked home from the Gate House with Rietta Cray and talked, not about old times, but about his mother’s intentions with regard presumably to some disposition of her effects; the ten minutes’ conversation with Mrs. Welby about business; the angry parting between Rietta Cray and James Lessiter after a conversation on business-business which involved a friend.

From this train of thought the word business emerged with a good deal of emphasis-business connected with James Lessiter and his mother’s effects. Scraps of Cecilia Voycey’s gossip came back in an illuminating manner. Her needles clicked busily. When she spoke again it was to return to an earlier topic.

“You say that you came away from Melling House and left your raincoat behind you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I presume that it is in the possession of the police.”

Miss Cray’s hesitation in answering this question was so marked that when she did at last say, “Yes,” she encountered a look of the most stringent enquiry. With a hortatory cough Miss Silver said,

“Just why did you find that question so difficult to answer? Are you not sure whether the police have the coat?”

This time there was no hesitation. Rietta said,

“Oh, yes, they have it.”

“They informed you of that?”

“They took it away-from here.”

“Did you go back for it?”

Rietta’s lips moved, but no sound came from them. She shook her head.

Miss Silver stopped knitting for a moment and leaned forward.

“Miss Cray, you possess information which is vital to your case. You can impart or withhold it, but if you do not trust me, I cannot help you.” Then, after a slight but significant pause, “If you did not bring the raincoat back, it is quite plain that it was Mr. Carr who did so.”

Rietta turned as pale as if she had been struck. Then the colour rushed into her face.

“Yes-you’re right. I must tell you. It’s no use thinking that everything won’t come out. Carr walked into Lenton. He went to see Elizabeth Moore. They were engaged before he met Marjory-his wife. I hoped they would make it up some day when they met again. They are really suited, and they cared very much. Marjory was a madness-a very tragic one for all three of them. Last night Carr went straight to Elizabeth. I think he was afraid of what he might do. I’m trusting you-I think he might have done something dreadful when he first rushed out of the house. But he didn’t, he went to Elizabeth. She has taken him back. Don’t you see he wouldn’t do anything violent after that? He was happy and satisfied. You don’t do murder when you’re feeling like that. All he wanted to do was to close that chapter of his life and have done with it. He went up to Melling House, and found James lying there dead.”

“Why did he go to Melling House?”

“I asked him that. He said it seemed the natural thing to do. He wanted to close the whole thing down and be done with it, and to do that he felt that he had to see James and tell him that he knew. Then they could avoid each other, as he put it, decently.”

Miss Silver said, “I see.”

Rietta put up her hand to her head. The long, beautifully shaped fingers pressed against her temple.

“He went up there and found James. My raincoat was lying over a chair. It was most horribly stained. The right cuff and sleeve were soaked.” Her voice had become strained and toneless. “Miss Silver, you asked me if I was sure that Carr didn’t do it. I am quite, quite sure, and I can tell you why I am sure. He thought I had done it. He came down here with the raincoat and asked me why.” Her hand fell into her lap again. “I’m not sure-I’m really not sure-whether he thinks so still. I don’t think he does with his feelings, but I think he does with his mind. That’s why he tried to get the stains out of the coat.”

Miss Silver said, “Dear me!” The words, mild in themselves, carried a considerable weight of disapproval.

Rietta drew in her breath.

“All the right side of the coat was wet when the police came this morning. They took it away.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“Unless the washing was extremely thorough, traces of blood will be found. You are quite clear that the stains were far more than could be accounted for by the fact that you had scratched your wrist?”

Rietta shuddered. She said,

“The sleeve was soaked.”