“Well, she didn’t quite say that. She hedged a little. When I took her original statement I wondered why she was at so much pains to suggest that she and Dale Jerningham were having an affair. It seemed just a little – unnecessary. I remember that when I asked whether they had been together the whole time she laughed in a conscious sort of way and said she wouldn’t swear that she had never taken her eyes off him, but – well, what did I suppose they had gone up there for – or words to that effect.”

Miss Silver gave a little cough.

“And what does she say now?”

“No more than she can help. It has hit her hard. She says they were together up there, but she missed a diamond and emerald clip she was wearing and they were trying to find it. I ran into her on Tane Head yesterday morning with Rafe Jerningham, and she told us then she had dropped this clip and was looking for it. To go back to Wednesday night – she says they hunted for it for a long time, but the light was bad and they didn’t find it. From time to time they were out of sight of one another. It’s quite plausible, you know – in fact it’s quite likely to be the truth – a little stretched perhaps, but near enough. Dale Jerningham would hardly have pushed that girl over the cliff in the presence of a third person unless she was an accomplice. But an accomplice would mean premeditation, and the whole circumstances at this point make premeditation impossible. No – he must have come on the Cole girl unexpectedly. He would see the tall figure, the fair hair, his wife’s coat, and he must have acted at once under the first shock of an unforseen opportunity. With time to think, the improbability of Mrs. Jerningham being there must have struck him, and the recollection of Pell rushing from the scene would have suggested his mistake. But I don’t believe he had time to think. He had the will to kill his wife. He thought he had the opportunity, and he took it. It was probably all over in a moment. He need not have been out of Lady Steyne’s sight for any longer than she says. What she may have thought or guessed about it all afterwards is another matter.”

“A very shocking story,” said Miss Silver.

Chapter 49

DALE JERNINGHAM’s body came ashore on the ridge below the Shepstone Rocks. An inquest was held, and a verdict of death resulting from a flying accident was duly returned. Mrs. Jerningham was not present. She was said to be prostrated with grief. When she had recovered she went away to stay with friends in Devonshire. Devonshire is a long way off.

Mr. Tatham renewed his offer for Tanfield Court and the estate which went with it. Rafe Jerningham, who succeeded to the property, accepted the offer. Completion of the purchase would naturally have to be deferred until probate had been granted.

Miss Maud Silver returned to London, where her whole attention became immediately concentrated upon the case of Mr. Waley and the Russian ikon – Waley was of course not his real name. The storm-clouds began to pile up higher and higher on the European horizon. July slipped into August, and August slipped into war. The deaths of Cissie Cole and Dale Jerningham were left behind upon the farther side of world-shaking events. Nobody thought about them any more.

On a day when winter had begun to turn towards the spring Rafe Jerningham came into a room in a London flat. He was there to see Lisle, whom he had not seen since she left Tanfield. As has already been remarked, Devonshire is a long way off. And Lisle was a long way off, removed from him by tragedy, by kinship, by all the things which at once emphasise distance and obliterate it. He had written to her, and she had written to him. He knew what drives she had taken, when she first began to walk abroad again, how kind the Pearses were to her, and how there were violets in bloom against the south wall on New Year’s day. Such things do not stay the hunger of a man’s heart, and presently even these would be gone, because Lisle herself would be gone. It was natural and inevitable that she should go back to America. Once there, she would stay. She would marry again. Her letters would drop off, dwindling to a few lines at Christmas, and presently not even that – a card perhaps, with her new signature slanting across it.

The door opened and she came in.

She was in grey with a little bunch of violets – not the kind you buy. She must have brought them up from Devonshire. They were small, and dark, and very sweet. There was one white one. He looked at the violets because for the moment it wasn’t easy to look at Lisle.

They touched hands. The only other time they had ever shaken hands was when Dale first brought her to Tanfield. It seemed strange and formal to be doing it now – so strange that he hadn’t a word to say. He was out of his own key, and not sure of hers.

She thought, “Why does he look like that? Oh, Rafe, are you ill? Or do you really hate me? Oh, Rafe, why?”

But this was in her heart. Her lips began to speak at once, saying obediently all the things which people say when they have not met for a long time – “How are you?” and, “What have you been doing?” and, “Isn’t it kind of Margaret Cassels to lend me this charming flat? The Pearses have been angels, but I am quite well now, and Mr. Robson wants to see me.”

“So do I,” said Rafe. He looked at her then. “Are you well?”

“Don’t I look well? The Pearses thought I did them great credit.”

He went on looking. The strained patience was gone from her eyes, but it had left a shadow there. She was not so thin as she had been. There was colour in her cheeks, but it came and went in a breath. She had done her hair in a new way. It shone like very pale gold, like winter sunshine. He said,

“The sale has gone through. Tanfield’s gone to Tatham.”

Lisle looked away. She caught her breath and said softly,

“Do you mind?”

“Mind? I’m thankful!” He pushed back his chair and got up. “I thought he’d cry off when the war came, but not a bit of it – the moment the probate was through, there he was, just itching to sign a cheque and move in.”

There was a pause. He walked to the window and stood there with his back to her. A wet pavement, a row of houses opposite, a pale blue sky. He said abruptly,

“I’ve kept the Manor.”

“Oh, I’m so glad!” said Lisle in a pleased voice.

Still with his back to her, she heard him say,

“You liked it.”

“I loved it. There was something friendly about it, as if nice people had lived there and been fond of each other.”

“My father and mother lived there. They were – very fond of each other.”

There was another pause.

Extraordinary for Rafe to have no words.

He turned a little, and said simply,

“You know they’ve given me a job?”

“Yes. Is it interesting?”

“Oh, very. I could live at the Manor, but – I don’t suppose I shall.”

Lisle said, “Oh-”

None of this seemed to be getting them anywhere.

Rafe picked up the cord of the blind and began to twist it about his wrist.

“I don’t suppose you would ever want to see the place again.”

Lisle said, “Why?”

“I should think you would hate the sight of anything or anyone who reminded you of Tanfield.”

“Why should I?”

She saw his eyebrows lift with that queer crooked tilt. An odd smile just touched his lips and was gone again.

“Plenty of reasons, my dear.”

It was the old light voice for a moment. Then it quivered and broke. He untwisted the cord about his wrist and threw it back against the window. The ivory acorn rattled on the glass.

“Oh, Lisle – I love you so much!”

She felt the kind of surprise which stops thought. Thrown back on something simpler, she could only say,

“Do you?”

“Didn’t you know?”

She shook her head.