Miss Silver stayed until after three o’clock. By the time she resumed her coat, her yellow fur tippet, and her warm black woollen gloves, one whole side of little Josephine Burkett’s woolly jacket had been completed and cast off. At least an inch of the second front had made its appearance as a pale blue frill. In her professional capacity it may be said that she now possessed quite an accurate picture of what had taken place the previous evening, in so far as this was known to Rietta Cray. A very short conversation with Fancy had elicited a few extra details. Fancy was, in fact, only too anxious to talk to someone who wasn’t the police and who was trying to help Carr and Miss Cray. In the circles of her origin there had been a wary feeling that however respectable you were you didn’t get matey with the police. When people live packed together in very crowded districts their lives and interests are closely knit. A touch upon one part of the fabric is felt throughout the whole-people hold together. It would never have occurred to Fancy that a friend might betray you to the police. She talked freely. Miss Silver came away with quite a factual impression of Carr Robertson’s behaviour when he had recognized James Lessiter’s photograph.

“He did look dreadful-” Fancy thrilled in retrospect- “white as a sheet. I’m sure he could have gone on as a ghost without a bit of make-up. He regularly frightened me. Miss Cray came into the room, and she said, ‘Carr!’ She was frightened too, you know. He did look dreadful. And she put her hand on his arm, but he didn’t take a bit of notice, just went on pointing at the picture. And then he said, ‘Is that James Lessiter?’ and she said, ‘Yes.’ And he said, ‘He’s the man I’ve been looking for-he’s the man who took Marjory away.’ She was his wife, you know, and if you ask me, he was well rid of her, but that’s what he said-‘He’s the man who took Marjory away. I’ve got him now!’ and off out of the room and out of the house, and the doors banging. I knew he’d got a temper, but I’d never seen him like that before.”

Miss Silver coughed, and enquired whether Fancy had communicated these interesting particulars to Superintendent Drake. An outraged flush deepened the wild rose colour under the delicate skin.

“Oh, no, Miss Silver, I didn’t! They’ve got a way of making you say things before you know you’ve done it, but I didn’t tell him what Carr said-I wouldn’t do that!”

Carr Robertson having gone out directly after lunch, Miss Silver had no opportunity of interviewing him. She considered that on the whole she had enough to think about. Making her way across the Green, she observed that Mr. Ainger had emerged from the Vicarage gate and was taking the path which skirted the village pond and came out a mere stone’s throw from the gate of the White Cottage. He might be going to visit someone in the row of cottages alluded to by Bessie Crook, or he might be going to call upon Miss Rietta Cray. If this were the case, she hoped he would be tactful. In her experience men were very rarely tactful-men in love practically never. The Vicar was said to be in love with Miss Cray. If she had been in love with him, it was probable that they would have married years ago. If she were not, then the last thing she would desire at this moment was an emotional scene. Miss Silver shook her head slightly as she walked. With every esteem for the manly virtues, and a good deal of indulgence towards the manly failings, it had often occurred to her that in moments of stress a man could be dreadfully in the way.

Something of the same feelling afflicted Rietta Cray as she opened the door to her visitor. He had made for it in a purposeful manner, sounded a vigorous tattoo with the knocker, and immediately upon Rietta making her appearance he had taken her by the arm and marched her into the sitting-room, enquiring in a loud and angry voice,

“What is all this nonsense?” Then, as the light fell upon her face and he saw how blanched and strained it was, he caught her hands in his and went on more gently, “My dear, my dear-you mustn’t take it like this. No one but a preposterous blundering fool could possibly connect you in any way-”

His voice had mounted again-a fine organ well suited to the pulpit. At such close quarters Rietta found it a little overpowering. He was still holding her hands. She withdrew them with difficulty and said,

“Thank you, Henry.”

“I never heard anything so outrageous! Just because you knew the man a quarter of a century ago!”

The words sounded bleakly on Rietta’s ear. A quarter of a century-how sere, how dry, how melancholy it sounded. She forced a faint smile.

“You make me feel like Methuselah.”

He brushed that aside with an emphatic gesture.

“Just because you knew the fellow all those years ago!”

“Not quite that, Henry. I’m afraid there’s more to it than that. You see, I was there talking to him not very long before it must have happened. We-” she hesitated-“well, we quarrelled, and I came away and left my coat behind me. When I saw it again it was-rather horribly stained. A stupid attempt was made to get the stains out, and-well the police found it all wet, and they have taken it away. I don’t see how they can help suspecting me. Poor James made a will in my favour when we were engaged. He showed it to me last night and told me he had never made another. Mrs. Mayhew was listening at the door, and she heard what he said. You see, they were bound to suspect me. But I didn’t do it, Henry.”

“You don’t need to tell me that.” He ran his hands through his thick fair hair and made it stand on end. “You must have the best advice-you must see a solicitor at once. You say your coat was stained when you saw it again. How did you see it again? Someone must have brought it to you. Was it Carr?”

“Henry, I can’t tell you anything more.”

“You’re shielding someone. You wouldn’t shield anyone but Carr-not in a murder case. Do you know what they’re saying? Mrs. Crockett told my sister. Dagmar knows how much I object to gossip, but she thought she ought to tell me. They’re saying that it was James Lessiter who ran away with Carr’s wife. Is that true? Are you shielding Carr?”

“Henry-please-”

“Is it true?”

Those bright blue eyes of his were fixed upon her in a very angry and compelling manner. She said in a tired, flat voice,

“Carr didn’t do it, and I didn’t do it. I can’t tell you any more than that.”

She stepped blindly back until she arrived at a chair. If she had to go on standing she would fall. The room and Henry were beginning to come and go in a baffling mist. She sat down and closed her eyes.

And then in a moment Henry was on his knees beside her, kissing her hands, accusing himself, protesting his undying devotion.

“You’ve never wanted it, but you need it-Rietta, you do need it now. You want someone to stand up for you and fight your battles. If you’ll only give me the right-let me give out our engagement and stand by you openly. It would knock out this stupid will motive if it didn’t do anything else. I’ve got quite a lot of money, you know-from my old Uncle Christopher. It really is quite a lot. That would cut out any question of motive. And I wouldn’t ask you to live with Dagmar-I know she’s difficult. I could make her an allowance. Perhaps she could have this house if you came to the Vicarage.”

Well might Miss Silver reflect upon the male lack of tact, but on this occasion it had a most salutary effect. The thought of Dagmar Ainger moving into the White Cottage and running it with iron efficiency warmed Rietta with a glow of restorative anger. The mist cleared, the floor became stable, the colour came into her cheeks. She sat up and pushed Henry Ainger away.

“Henry, for heaven’s sake! You can’t propose when I’m fainting!”