Miss Silver rested her hands on the small pale blue jacket and said,

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Allan Grover drew a long breath.

“She couldn’t see it, you know. I don’t think it ever occurred to her for one single moment that it would be dangerous to threaten him.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“Did she threaten him?”

“I don’t think she meant it that way, but that is how he would take it. You see, when she went back to Melling House he was there in the study talking to Mr. Lessiter. There was something in that memorandum about him-money Mrs. Lessiter had handed over to him to invest. And he’d kept it, and Mr. Lessiter was going to prosecute. That’s why he killed him.”

“Mrs. Welby was actually a witness of the murder?”

“No, no, no-you mustn’t think that! She left them quarrelling, and she came away. It wouldn’t have been any good her seeing Mr. Lessiter on the top of a scene like that. She had got back to the Gate House, when she heard him coming down the drive. She stood behind a bush and watched him go.”

“A very shocking affair.”

“He had his car parked about a hundred yards along on the grass. I saw it.”

“You saw it?”

He nodded.

“I’m a fool. I used to go round and see her in the evenings. Then she said I mustn’t come any more-people were talking. But I couldn’t seem to get out of the way. I used to go round there and walk up and down, and watch to see her light go out, and then go home. I was there on Wednesday-that’s how I saw the car.”

“And you did not inform the police?”

His voice became suddenly natural and boyish.

“Miss Silver, I give you my word it never crossed my mind that Mr. Holderness being there had anything to do with the murder-how could it? I thought he was out there seeing Mrs. Welby. It made me feel downright sick-an old man like that! I didn’t sleep all night. I could have killed him- but I never thought he had anything to do with Mr. Lessiter’s death-not till I was in Mr. Stanway’s room listening, and heard what Mrs. Welby had to say.”

Miss Silver had resumed her knitting. She said,

“I see. Will you go on?”

The energy went out of him. He said,

“There isn’t much more. By the time she had finished it was all as clear as daylight. That’s to say, it’s as clear as daylight now, looking back at it, but while they were talking it didn’t seem as if I could take it in-it didn’t seem possible. She never said right out, ‘I know you killed Mr. Lessiter and took the memorandum, and if I tell the police, you’ll be hanged for it.’ It was all what a serious position she was in, and she would hold her tongue if she could, but of course if they tried to put it on her, she would have to say what she knew. And then a piece about how awful it was for her having so little money, and how grateful she would be if he could help her out. Of course she didn’t realize-she couldn’t have realized-how that sounded to him. He was old enough to be her father, and all she would think about was that she was in a tight place and he could help her out. But going over it in my mind-and I haven’t been able to help going over it all day-I can see that what he thought was-was-” The breath caught in his throat. He stared miserably down at the pattern of Mrs. Voycey’s carpet.

Miss Silver coughed discreetly.

“That she was blackmailing him. It would certainly appear to him in that light.”

Without looking at her Allan stammered out,

“She wouldn’t-Mrs. Welby wouldn’t!”

Little Josephine’s jacket swung round with something of a swish. There was no doubt at all in Miss Silver’s mind that Catherine Welby had embarked upon a deliberate attempt at blackmailing, and that this attempt had brought her to her death. Very dangerous-very dangerous indeed, and in a murder case extremely likely to prove fatal. She did not, however, make this comment aloud, but continued to knit until the silence was broken by a choking sob.

“What I can’t get over is that I might have saved her. I told you I didn’t take it all in at the time. When she came out of Mr. Holderness’s room she was extra sweet to me. It-it put everything else out of my head. The office shut at one, and I went off with some chaps to a football match. I didn’t get home till late, and after I’d had my tea I went out again. I told my mother I was going to get a game of darts at The Feathers, but when it came to the point I couldn’t face it. I went and walked up and down by the Gate House and watched her light. Round about half past nine I saw the car drive up again and park on the verge. There’s a tree hangs down over the wall. I stood back under it and watched him go past. He went between the pillars and up to her door and in. I nearly went mad thinking of them there together.” He looked up, his face twitching. “Do you know, I went up to the door and put my finger on the bell but I couldn’t ring it. I went away again-but if I’d gone in-it would have saved her.”

Miss Silver looked at him very kindly.

“That is more than anyone can say. You cannot know it. Do not torment yourself by thinking of what might have been. I do not see how you could have interrupted an interview between Mrs. Welby and her solicitor. Can you tell me how long he stayed?”

“It seemed like hours, but it wasn’t more than twenty minutes. He came out, and got into his car and drove off.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“You say ‘he,’ and ‘his car,’ but could you swear to this ‘he’ being Mr. Holderness, or could you swear to the car?”

He gave a jerky nod.

“Both. I saw him by the hall light when he let himself out, and I saw the number of the car, last night, and on the Wednesday night. When he had gone I went on walking up and down for a bit. Then there were some people coming along, and I cleared out and went home.” He dropped his head in his hands and groaned, “If I’d stayed-if I’d only stayed-I’d have known there was something wrong when her light didn’t go out.”

At half past nine o’clock on Monday morning Mr. Holderness gathered his letters together and rose from the breakfast table. A childless widower of many years standing, his house had been kept ever since his wife’s death by an unmarried sister, a faded invalidish person with an expression of chronic discontent. As her brother picked up the Times and put it under his arm, she looked up with a puckered brow.

“Are you going already?”

“It is half past nine.”

“Did you have your second cup of tea?”

He laughed.

“You poured it out yourself.”

Miss Holderness clasped her head.

“Did I? I’m sure I hardly know what I’m doing. I didn’t sleep a wink. I can’t think how I came to run out of my tablets-I thought the box was half full.”

“You probably had a glorious burst and took them all the night before.”

Miss Holderness looked shocked.

“Oh, no-it would have been dangerous.”

“Well, my dear, danger is the spice of life.”

He had reached the door, when she asked him if he would be in for lunch. He said, “No,” and went away out of the room, and out of her life.

He did not very often drive to the office. His house was the one in which he had been born, and his father and his grandfather before him. Standing at what had been the edge of the town when it was built, there was still a garden behind it, but the open spaces beyond were now all quite built over. Since the distance of the office was under half a mile, he was used to making the journey on foot.

This day did not differ from any of the other days, running into uncounted numbers, on which he had shut the door briskly behind him, stood for a moment to savour the air, and then come down the two shallow steps on to the pavement and, turning to the right, set off in the direction of Main Street, his hat a little on the side of his head and a small leather case in his hand. At a quarter to ten he would be at the near end of Main Street, and by the time the clock of St. Mary’s was striking the hour he would be at his table looking through the morning’s mail.