“She gave me some furniture-yes. I don’t know what business it is of yours.”

“Miss Cray has engaged me to protect her interests. It is clear that there are two possible points of view involved. I have heard that the furniture was lent-you say that it was given. Mr. Lessiter talked to Miss Cray about the disposition of his mother’s effects. On the night of the murder you called Miss Cray up to talk about a matter of business. Later that evening she had a sharp difference of opinion with Mr. Lessiter over a business matter which involved a friend. Can you be surprised that I put two and two together and arrived at the conclusion that Mr. Lessiter was taking the first point of view? He believed that the furniture had been lent. He endeavoured to obtain corroboration from Miss Cray. At some time during the hours immediately preceding his death he discovered a memorandum in his mother’s writing. I think it is quite clear that this memorandum supported his view. I believe he rang you up and said so, and that you then rang Miss Cray. Later on, during her interview with Mr. Lessiter, Miss Cray recurred to the subject and endeavoured to change some course of action which he was contemplating. I think that what he intended must have been of a nature to cause her serious distress. She told me that their quarrel was about business, and that the business concerned a friend. You cannot be surprised if I conclude that you were the friend. The whole sequence of events is then explained.”

Catherine Welby had not Rietta Cray’s quick temper. She could take a wound as well as give one. But all through the interview anger had been rising in her, retarded by caution, checked once or twice by fear, but still rising. It went cold in her now. She felt as if she had just been neatly dissected, her thoughts, her motives, the movements of her mind laid bare. It was not alone the few formal sentences, it was the feeling that this old maid’s small, shrewd eyes did really see what she was thinking. She even had the strangest feeling that it might be a relief to let go-to open her mind of her own free will, unpack her thoughts, and spread them out to be looked at, weighed, and judged. It was only for the shortest possible space of time. These moments come-and go. We take them, or we let them go.

Catherine Welby let her moment go. She had no idea that in letting it go she had committed herself to an irremediable disaster. She was not hurried by anger. She took her time before she said,

“You’ve got it all very nicely settled, haven’t you? I wouldn’t dream of disturbing the picture.” She got to her feet and dropped the stub of her cigarette into a jade ashtray. “And now perhaps you’ll go.”

Miss Silver was very well qualified to deal with insolence. She regarded Catherine in a manner which relegated her to the nursery-a badly conducted nursery in which the child had not been taught her manners. Rising without hurry, she put on the elderly tippet and fastened up her coat.

“If you should change your mind, you will know where to find me.”

As Miss Silver emerged between the pillars which marked the entrance to the drive of Melling House, a light was flashed in her face. It was a little startling, but since there was an immediate murmur of apology in a young man’s voice, she concluded that the owner of what appeared to be a bicycle-lamp had merely been anxious to identify a friend. In words rather more familiar than she herself would have employed, it was a case of “boy meets girl.” She crossed the road and found her way along the edge of the Green to the path which would take her back to Mrs. Voycey’s.

When she first heard the footsteps behind her she gave them no attention. A nervous person would not adopt the detective profession. It did not occur to Miss Silver to be nervous. There was enough light for her to distinguish her path from the Green it traversed. She was not, therefore, using her torch. The footsteps continued behind her. Presently they drew nearer, and a voice said,

“I-I beg your pardon-”

It was the same voice which had apologized for flashing the bicycle-lamp in her face, a young voice and embarrassed.

Miss Silver stood still, allowed the footsteps to come up with her, and said,

“What is it?”

The bicycle-lamp must have been switched off, for all she could see was a tall black shadow. The voice said,

“I beg your pardon, but you are staying with Mrs. Voycey, aren’t you? Your name is Miss Silver-”

“What can I do for you?”

“I really do beg your pardon-I hope I didn’t startle you. I’m Allan Grover. My father and mother have the Grocery Stores-I think you’ve met them. I’m in Mr. Holderness’s office in Lenton.”

Miss Silver began to be very much interested. This was the young man Cecilia Voycey had talked about, the clever boy who had won scholarships. She remembered that there was something about an infatuation for Catherine Welby who was, as Cecilia had not failed to point out, more than old enough to be his mother. Since this had never yet prevented a young man of twenty from falling in love with a pretty and experienced woman, Miss Silver had dismissed it as irrelevant. She began to wonder why he had been waiting outside Catherine’s house. Was it just the familiar case of the moth and the candle, and if so, why was he now following herself? She said,

“Yes-Mrs. Voycey has spoken of you. What can I do for you, Mr. Grover?”

He was standing quite close to her now. His voice continued to show embarrassment.

“I wanted to see you-”

Miss Silver coughed in rather a surprised manner.

“To see me, Mr. Grover? You could not know that I should be at the Gate House.”

“No-no-I didn’t-I couldn’t. I was going to see Mrs. Welby-but I had been wanting to talk to you-and when you came out it seemed like an opportunity-”

Even in his embarrassment she was struck with his manner of speech. There was no trace of the village accent. It is not every clever boy who is so adaptable. She said gravely,

“Why did you want to talk to me?”

He came to the point with a simple directness which pleased her.

“You are staying with Mrs. Voycey. Her housekeeper, Mrs. Crook, is a friend of my mother’s. I have heard that you are a detective, and that you are advising Miss Cray.”

“Yes, Mr. Grover? Shall we walk? It is chilly standing here, and we may be remarked.”

They moved on together, Miss Silver setting a slower pace than she was used to. Allan Grover began to pour out what he had to say.

“I haven’t known what to do. I thought of coming round to Mrs. Voycey’s-but then she would be there, and Mrs. Crook would know. I wanted to catch you alone, but I didn’t see how it was going to be done. Then when you came out of the Gate House I thought if I let the opportunity slip I’d never get another, so I followed you. It’s about Cyril-Cyril Mayhew.”

“Yes, Mr. Grover?”

“Miss Silver-this is just between you and me, isn’t it? Because I’m not supposed to talk about office business, but I had to go up to Melling House with Mr. Holderness this morning-a matter of checking up on the inventory with the police to see if anything was missing. Well, right away we found that there were four gilt figures gone from the study mantelpiece.”

“Yes-they represented the four Seasons, did they not?”

“You know about them?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Grover.”

“Then you know they think Cyril took them.”

“Do you know of any reason why he should have done so?”

“I’m quite sure that he didn’t. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“Do you know whether they had any special value?”

He hesitated, and then came out with,

“They’re down in the inventory as ‘Four gilt figures.’ ”

“Is that all you know about them?”