“Yes, I admit all that.”

“Then, Randal, can you explain why Mrs. Welby should have allowed more than half an hour to go by before entering the study?”

“Where do you get your half hour?”

She said very composedly,

“From Mrs. Mayhew’s statements. You will remember that she opened the study door at a quarter to ten and saw Miss Cray’s raincoat hanging over a chair. She described the cuff as being stained with blood. When she was later pressed on this point, it appeared that the stain was no more than could be accounted for by the scratch on Miss Cray’s wrist. But when Mr. Carr Robertson brought the raincoat home more than an hour later the sleeve was quite soaked with blood. If this soaking occurred whilst the coat was being worn by Mrs. Welby, then it happened after Mrs. Mayhew opened the door at a quarter to ten. From what Miss Cray has told me, I believe that it must have happened considerably later than that. Miss Cray says the blood was still quite wet. Blood dries quickly, and she says it was very hot in the study. If Mrs. Welby stained that coat in the act of murdering Mr. Lessiter, then she must have deferred her interview with him for something between half an hour and an hour and a quarter. Why should she have done so?”

“I don’t know.”

“Nor do I, Randal.”

He said in an exasperated voice,

“My dear Miss Silver, what are you trying to prove? The case is solved, the murderer has committed suicide-two and two have made four. What more do you want?”

She coughed in a deprecating manner.

“You say that two and two have made four. I regret to say that at the moment they appear to me to be making five.”

Miss Silver knocked at the kitchen door and went in. She found Mrs. Crook sitting in front of the fire listening to the B.B.C. light programme.

“Pray do not disturb yourself. I will not detain you for more than a moment.”

Mrs. Crook reached out sideways and reduced the volume of an accordion band.

“Thank you, Mrs. Crook. It is wonderful how faithfully your set reproduces the tone-but just a little difficult when one is talking. I only came in to ask whether you would by any chance be going out this evening.”

“Well, I thought I might look in on Mrs. Grover.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“I wondered if you would be doing that, and whether you would mind taking a note for me to her son.”

“He’ll be in a dreadful way,” said Mrs. Crook.

“I am afraid so.”

“Thought the world of Mrs. Welby. I don’t want to say anything about them that are gone, but she shouldn’t have encouraged him the way she did-a boy like that! Where was her pride?”

“I expect she just looked upon him as a boy, Mrs. Crook.”

Bessie Crook bridled.

“Well, he’s got his feelings, hasn’t he? She might have thought of that. And so has my niece Gladys. Mrs. Welby didn’t think about her, did she? Come between two loving hearts, that’s what she did. Gladys and Allan, they’d been going together ever since they were in their cradles, as you might say. Living or dead, you can’t get from it-it’s not what a lady ought to do.”

This was a very long speech for Mrs. Crook. Her colour had deepened. She looked accusingly at Miss Silver.

“Let young people alone is what I say. But she couldn’t. Only yesterday morning she was off into Lenton and in Mr. Holderness’s office. Gladys had the morning off, and they went in on the same bus, so she thinks to herself, ‘I’ll see where she goes.’ And she hasn’t got to see far-straight through Friar’s Cut and into Mr. Holderness’s office! And nothing’ll make Gladys believe she didn’t go there after Allan. Quite downhearted she was when I saw her for a minute outside the Stores.”

Miss Silver’s note was a very short one. It ran:

Dear Mr. Grover,

I should very much like to see you if you can make it convenient.

Yours sincerely,

MAUD SILVER .

Having dispatched it by the hand of Mrs. Crook, she decided that she would not accompany Cecilia Voycey to evening service. She was therefore alone in the house when in response to a hesitating knock upon the front door she went to open it and saw the same tall, dark figure which had accompanied her across the Green.

She took him into the comfortable warmth of the drawing-room, and was able for the first time to receive an impression of him beyond that conveyed by his voice and his height. He was a goodlooking boy, even with his eyes red and swollen from weeping. He had a certain charm of youth, sincerity, and ardour. He took the chair she indicated, stared at her in a grief-stricken way, and said,

“I was coming to see you.”

“Yes, Mr. Grover?”

He said, “Yes. And then your note came. I’d been trying to make up my mind, because I can see it may ruin me. But I don’t care for that any more, only it will be hard on my people.”

“Yes?”

He sat forward with his hands hanging down between his knees. Sometimes he looked at her, and sometimes he stared upon the ground. His hands hung down.

“You can’t always hold your tongue because it will get you into trouble-”

Miss Silver was knitting quietly. She said,

“Not always.”

“I’ve been going over it in my mind all day, backwards and forwards, ever since I heard about her. It wasn’t fair to tell my father and mother, because you see, it may ruin me, and it would be like asking them to have a hand in it. And they’d think about it afterwards-it wouldn’t be fair. Then I thought about you. You let me talk to you about Cyril. I thought you’d understand -there’s something about you.”

As he said this he looked up suddenly.

“You don’t think I’m rude, do you? I don’t mean to be.”

She gave him the smile which had won so many confidences.

“I am quite sure about that. You can tell me anything you like. I am sure it is best to tell the truth. Concealments are of no real benefit to anyone. They breed more crimes.”

He looked startled, and said,

“More?” And then, “There’s been enough, hasn’t there?”

“Yes, Allan.”

The silence gathered, until he broke it with a sigh so deep that it was almost a sob.

“I’d no business to love her, but I did! I can’t let them say things about her and hold my tongue-can I?” Then, without waiting for an answer, “She came to the office on Saturday morning-that’s yesterday. It seems much longer ago than that. I was in the room where I work. She opened the door and came in. I took her along to Mr. Holderness’s room. Then I went back, but I couldn’t settle down. You see, there had been a lot of talk-talk about Mr. Lessiter coming back-talk about whether he would make it up again with Miss Cray- talk about whether he would let Mrs. Welby stay on at the Gate House, and whether he would let her keep the things Mrs. Lessiter had given her. I was worried for her in case she was turned out, or Mr. Lessiter wouldn’t let her keep the things. I didn’t know how things were, and I couldn’t sleep thinking about it. I couldn’t go and see her, because there had been talk-everyone talks in a village-and she’d told me to keep away. It was driving me silly.” He looked up, and down again, and drew one of those sobbing breaths. “When she came into the office I knew what she had come for-to talk to Mr. Holderness and get his advice. I was desperate to know how things were, and-well, I listened.” He threw up his head with a jerk and met Miss Silver’s calm, compassionate gaze. His face worked as he said with a mixture of pride and defiance, “I’d no right to-I’d no business- I know that. I just didn’t seem able to help myself.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“It was, of course, reprehensible, but I can understand your feelings. You say you listened. May I enquire how you contrived to do so?”

Her tone was kind and perfectly matter of fact. It steadied him. He said in a much quieter voice,