This Monday morning was no different from all the other Mondays. A dozen people could remember afterwards that they had seen him and bidden him good-morning. Each of them severally made the same comment in varying tones of wonder-“He looked just as usual”-“He didn’t look no different”-“You wouldn’t have thought there was anything wrong.”

Mr. Holderness wouldn’t have thought it himself. It was a fine September morning. He felt alert and vigorous, and very much on the top of the world. His forebears came from the North of England. If it had been their fortune to be born as much farther north as the Highland line, his state of mind might have been described as “fey.” He had been in very great danger, he had taken a very great risk. Risk is the spice of life. He had pulled success out of failure, security out of danger, and he had done it by the cleverness of his brain, by the swiftness of his thought and the strength of his right hand. Not so bad for a man of sixty-five. Younger men than he might have gone under. He had saved himself, and he had saved the firm. The world was a good enough place.

He called Allan Grover in and asked him for the Jardine papers. When he had brought them and gone away again, Mr. Holderness looked after him, frowning. The boy looked like nothing on earth-eyes bunged up, hand shaking. His frown deepened. He hoped to goodness Grover hadn’t been drinking. Wouldn’t do if he was going to start that sort of thing-wouldn’t do at all. Always seemed a particularly steady young fellow, but you never could tell.

He was bending his mind to the Jardine case, when he heard the footsteps on the stair-heavy steps of more than one person, coming up the stairs and along the passage to his room. He looked up, and that is how they saw him as they came in, the Chief Constable and Inspector Drake. Behind them Constable Whitcombe closed the door and stayed outside.

The door was shut. They stood just inside it looking at him, seeing the upright figure in its well cut suit, the thick grey hair, the dark eyebrows arching over fine dark eyes, the florid colour. Except for the modern dress he might have been his own great-grandfather. The thought went through Randal March’s mind-eighteenth century, that’s what he is. “That they should take, who have the power, and they should keep who can.” He couldn’t remember where the lines came from, but they fitted.

The shadowy Stanway above the hearth gloomed on the room. There was just a moment’s silence. A great deal can happen in a moment. The whole towering structure built up in pride, self-will, and arrogance can come to a crashing fall- a crashing and irrevocable fall.

Randal March came forward and said gravely,

“We have come on a painful errand, Mr. Holderness-”

He showed nothing, except that his colour had deepened. He said, “Indeed?” and he said it without a tremor.

Inspector Drake came up to the table and stood there. He brought out a notebook and read from it.

“Is the number of your car XXM. 312?”

“Certainly.”

“We have information that it was parked on the grass verge outside the drive of Melling House between ten and ten-twenty p.m. on the night of Wednesday last, and again for about twenty minutes between nine-thirty and ten o’clock on Saturday night.”

Mr. Holderness remained in his upright position, one hand on the table edge, the other holding the paper which he had been perusing.

“May I ask who has given you this information?”

“Someone who knows the car. It will be sworn to.”

There was a faint crackling sound from the paper in Mr. Holderness’s hand. His fingers had closed upon it. The sound must have attracted his attention, for his eyes turned that way. His grip relaxed. He smoothed the paper out and laid it down. When this had been done he said,

“My clerk Allan Grover in fact-he lives in Melling. Well, gentlemen, I called upon Mrs. Welby on both those evenings. It is not a criminal offence to call upon a pretty woman. One may not be anxious to advertize the fact, especially to a tattling village, but I am quite willing to admit that I paid those two calls. What of it?”

Drake said sharply, “You were in the neighbourhood of Melling House between ten and ten-thirty on the Wednesday night.”

Mr. Holderness smiled.

“I was calling on Mrs. Welby.”

“At that hour?”

The smile was maintained.

“My dear Inspector-”

“You say that you were with Mrs. Welby?”

“She will, I am sure, confirm it.”

There was a brief electric silence. Drake looked at the Chief Constable.

March said, “Do you not know that Mrs. Welby is dead?”

The hand which had held the paper was lifted with a jerk. It fell again upon his knee. The florid colour had ebbed perceptibly. He said,

“No-no-how shocking!”

“You did not know?”

“No, no-how could I?”

“You were with her on Saturday night. She was found dead on Sunday morning.”

“How?”

“An overdose of sleeping tablets.”

Mr. Holderness leaned back in his chair. He said under his breath,

“It’s a great shock-I’ve known her since she was a child-” And then, “Just give me a minute.”

When it was gone by, he had composed himself. He said soberly,

“I see that I must tell you what I hoped not to have to tell. Mrs. Welby was not exactly a client, but she was a very old friend who sometimes asked my advice. She came here on Saturday morning and told me that she was in a very serious position. I must tell you that she had been living in the Gate House practically rent-free for some years. Mrs. Lessiter had furnished it for her, and, rightly or wrongly, Mrs. Welby assumed that all these furnishings were gifts. She even went so far as to sell some of them. When Mr. Lessiter came home he at once took the matter up-he came to see me about it. He suspected that some of the things had been sold, amongst an extremely vindictive frame of mind. I did my best to mollify him, but he persisted in his determination to prosecute if he could lay his hands on sufficient evidence. On the Wednesday evening he rang me up to say that he had found a memorandum left for him by his mother which made it perfectly clear that the contents of the Gate House were lent to Mrs. Welby, and not given. He reiterated his intention to prosecute. Guessing that Mrs. Welby would have had a similiar communication, and knowing how distressed she would be, I got out my car and went over to see her.” He paused.

When neither Drake nor the Chief Constable made any comment, he lifted his hand in the same gesture as before, let it fall upon his knee, and went on speaking,

“I found her in a state of extreme distress. She told me she had been up to Melling House to try and see James Lessiter, but finding that Miss Cray was with him, she had come away again. She wanted me to go up and see him, but I told her that I did not consider it would be at all a prudent course- it would be very much better to allow him to sleep on the matter. I told her that he would be sure to come and speak to me about it, and that I would then suggest to him the harm that would be done to his own reputation if he were to proceed to extremities. I assured her that it was most unlikely that he meant to do so. She said something about making another attempt to see him herself, but I begged her not to think of it. When I left her I believed that she had given up the idea.” He paused, looked across at the Chief Constable, and said, “Do you not wish to take any of this down? I see that the Inspector is not doing so.”

March said gravely, “A statement can be taken later if you wish it. You will realize, of course, that it may be used in evidence.”

“Naturally. Well, I will continue. On Thursday morning I heard of James Lessiter’s death. I was very much shocked. The police asked my assistance with a view to ascertaining whether there was anything missing from the house, and I accompanied the clerk who checked over the inventory. Carr Robertson consulted me with regard to his position, and I thought it right to pass on his information that Cyril Mayhew had been seen in Lenton on the night of the murder. I advised young Robertson to make a full statement to the police. On Saturday morning Mrs. Welby came to see me. I do not feel at liberty to disclose all she said, but in the circumstances I do feel bound to tell you that she intimated that she did go back to Melling House after I left her on Wednesday night. Her state of mind filled me with alarm. I begged her to go home and rest, and I would come and see her in the evening. My position was a painful one-I had known her since she was a child. I wanted time to think things over. In the end she went away.”