“She said she couldn’t go away, because she would never see him again.” Cissie’s “And never no more-” rang in her head. She thought her voice would break under the words. She had to take others.

“Yes, Mrs. Jerningham?”

“I said something like what was the use of seeing him, and she said nothing was any use. And then she thanked me again for the coat and went away.”

“And that was all?”

“Yes, that was all.”

Inspector March sat back in his chair.

“Looking back on that conversation, Mrs. Jerningham, would you say that this girl was in a state of mind to commit suicide? You have said she was unhappy. There are a great many degrees of unhappiness. Do you think she was unhappy enough to take her own life?”

For the first time a little natural colour came into Lisle’s face. She said without hesitation whatever,

“Oh no – not when she was talking to me.”

March smiled involuntarily. It was just like seeing someone come alive – rather beautifully too. He said,

“You sound very sure about that. Will you tell me why?”

“Oh, yes – it was because of the coat. You could see she was really pleased. It didn’t suit her very well, but she was terribly pleased with it. We are about the same height and it fitted her. It was a very good coat. She knew that, and it pleased her. She hadn’t ever had anything like it before. All the time we were talking she had her hand on it. I could see her feeling the stuff. A girl who was going to kill herself wouldn’t do that – would she?”

“I don’t know,” said the Inspector. “She might have had a scene with Pell up there on the cliff and thrown herself over. Was she an excitable girl?”

Lisle shook her head.

“No, not a bit. She was the meek, obstinate sort. That’s what made it so difficult about Pell. Once she’d got an idea into her head you couldn’t get it out again. But she didn’t get excited – she just cried.”

“You knew her well?”

“Yes, very well. She used to come up here and sew for me.” Her voice changed and became unsteady on the last words. Cissie sewing – Cissie talking about Pell – Cissie crying – Cissie on the rocks at the foot of Tone Head-

As if he had read her thoughts. Inspector March said,

“Then she had talked to you before about Pell?”

“Oh, yes – quite a lot. We all thought he was courting her, and of course she thought so too. She was very fond of him. And then when she found out that he was married she came up here crying and told me all about it. She seemed afraid I should think it was her fault in some way, poor Cissie.”

“Did she ever say anything about taking her own life?”

“Oh, no. I don’t really think she was that sort of girl. She was gentle, you know, and quiet – not much about her – not very bright. She sewed very well, but she took a long time over it. I just can’t imagine her doing anything sudden, or violent, or impulsive. She wasn’t like that at all. If she had had a scene with Pell she would have sat down and cried about it quietly – she wouldn’t have thrown herself over a cliff.”

As she spoke she had the feeling that she was defending Cissie who was not there to defend herself. The effort brought colour to her cheeks and life into those wide dark, eyes. And then quite suddenly, there came the realisation that in defending Cissie she might be accusing Pell. All the strength seemed to drain out of her. A terrible thought came and went. She shut her eyes for a moment, and opened them to see the Inspector looking at her. He was leaning back in his chair. He said in his pleasant voice,

“Thank you, Mrs. Jerningham. Now, to come back to last night – you think Cissie went away soon after nine o’clock?”

“Yes.”

“And your husband and Lady Steyne had already gone when you got back to the terrace. Where was Mr. Rafe Jerningham?”

Lisle looked a little surprised.

“Oh, he was there.”

“Did you spend the evening together?”

“No, he went for a walk, and I went to bed. I was tired.”

He thought she looked tired now. The long, slim figure would have drooped if it had not been held erect. Its poise was the result of effort. The small fair head was carried with an involuntary pride. This was an ordeal, and she was confronting it with a young dignity as simple as it was touching. He said,

“I’m afraid this all very trying for you, Mrs. Jerningham, but I have finished now. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind asking Mr. Rafe Jerningham to come here for a moment. I shan’t have to keep him very long.”

Chapter 22

HE opened the door for her and watched her go. She walked slowly. A graceful creature, not over strong. No match at all for Lady Steyne. If she were happy she might be beautiful. No, that wasn’t the word – lovely. Yes, that was it – lovely, and sweet, and good.

She came up to Rafe Jerningham, gave him her message, and passed on.

Rafe looked after her as she went, and then took his casual way to the study.

Like Lisle, he gave the Inspector the sort of greeting he would have given to any acquaintance who had dropped in. Unlike the others, he did not sit down, but strolled to the jutting chimney breast, where he stood with his back to the hearth. Overhead, the portrait of the Jerningham who had been Lord Chief Justice of England frowned upon the scene. The crimson of the robes had gone away to the dull glow of a half extinguished fire, but the frown would endure while there was paint upon the canvas.

The Inspector, turning his chair to face the chimney-piece, met it full. The formidable brows beetled over dark eyes which were very like those of his descendants – more like Dale’s than Alicia Steyne’s or Rafe’s. But the brown skin was theirs, very marked against the grey wig. The hand grasping a parchment roll was Dale’s hand to the life.

Rafe, following the direction of the Inspector’s glance, said with a laugh,

“He was an awful old ruffian – hang you as soon as look at you. Good old days – weren’t they? You’d have been doing your job with a spot of rack and thumbscrew to get things going. Life’s gone all tame and soft – hasn’t it?”

March smiled.

“I can get along without the thumbscrews. Actually, I don’t suppose you can tell me very much, except that I’d like to know what you thought of Pell when he was here in Mr. Jerningham’s employ.”

Rafe put his hands in his pockets. He stood easily, one foot on the stone kerb which guarded the hearth, the knee bent.

He said, “I don’t know that I thought of him at all. He didn’t come my way much – I’m one of the toiling millions. I do run a small car, but the other chap, Evans, does anything I don’t do myself. Pell just didn’t come my way. You’re not asking me what he looked like, I suppose?”

“I wouldn’t mind having that.” The Inspector was thinking that you don’t describe a man without giving away your opinion of him.

Rafe’s shoulder lifted.

“Short – wiry – tough – not the sort of chap you’d pick for a Don Juan. Very good at his job, I believe. Black hair, lightish eyes – tendency to spread grease and engine oil about. You know, that’s a very funny thing, the other man, Evans, could do the same job and come out comparatively spotless where Pell would be black all over. I couldn’t see why Cissie fell for him myself, but I suppose he smartened up a bit when he went courting.”

“What sort of temper had he?”

“He never showed any to me, but then as I say, I hadn’t much to do with him. Glum, silent sort of devil, but Dale always says he’s the best mechanic he ever came across.”

March said, “Thank you.” He didn’t think Rafe Jerningham had cottoned very much to his cousin’s pet mechanic. He said,

“Did you know the girl?”

“I’ve seen her off and on since she was a baby. I can’t say I knew her.”

“She didn’t talk to you about Pell?”