March turned to Crisp.

“Did the police know about this letter?”

Crisp really did resemble the terrier of Florrie’s fancy. At the moment he was the terrier whose rat has been killed by another dog. He was at his most abrupt as he said,

“No, sir.”

March had a moment of exasperation. How could you help people if they wouldn’t help themselves? They would talk endlessly to each other, but when it came to reporting anything to the police a tomblike silence engulfed them. Sam Boxer having already stated that the Colonel, Miss Valentine, and the Vicar had each received a letter answering to the description of the poison-pen letters, he himself having delivered them with the first post on Thursday morning, March decided that Florrie’s evidence could be considered to establish the fact that the letter addressed to Roger had certainly reached him, though he had not seen fit to admit that it had. Since it appeared to have dealt with the subject of his wife’s unfaithfulness, this was not surprising.

Florrie maintained that the Colonel had not only talked about the letter, but that he and Mrs. Repton had quarrelled very bitterly about it, and that in the course of this quarrel the Colonel had said that he knew who had written the letters. And had gone on to say that perhaps it was Mrs. Repton herself.

“You are sure he said that?”

She repeated the words in her statement.

“Mrs. Repton said it was all lies, and the Colonel said it was a filthy letter about a filthy thing, and he knew who wrote it. And Mrs. Repton said, who was it then? And the Colonel said wouldn’t she like to know, and perhaps she done it herself, because that would be one way of breaking off Miss Valentine’s marriage, wouldn’t it, and one way of getting out of her own. And what did she and her friends care about divorce, he said. Only she had better make sure that Mr. Gilbert would marry her before she walked out.”

She might almost have had the statement in front of her as she tripped through the quarrel which had taken place in this very room. Both March and Miss Silver received a clear impression of how it had gone-suspicion turned suddenly to certainty and blazing up into an anger which defied control, followed by what the Chief Constable, but not perhaps Miss Maud Silver, would have described as a slanging-match. And then a certain cooling down, so that what had begun with a demand that Scilla Repton should get out and leave his house then and there seemed to have concluded with a realization of the scandal which such a course must provoke, and a desire to keep on the right side of public opinion.

As March said later on when they were alone, “He just blazed off at her, and then, I fancy, he realized what he would be letting himself in for if he turned her out neck and crop. I gather that he was supposed to be out, but he had forgotten a letter he wanted to post. He came back for it, found her having a pretty compromising conversation with Earle. Not unnaturally, he went in off the deep end, and then had to get back to a more dignified position. But from what Miss Maggie says, after two days to think it over he was still all set to divorce her, and was only waiting for Connie Brooke’s funeral to be over to insist on her leaving the house.”

Miss Silver agreed.

“Do you suppose that he was serious when he suggested that Mrs. Repton might herself have written the letter which accused her?”

“It is difficult to believe that he was. He was furious with her, and I should say at a guess that he wouldn’t be too particular about what weapon he was using. They are talking about the letter he had received, or rather shouting at each other about it, and he snatches at something that he thinks will frighten her.”

“You think, then, that he did not really know who had written the letter?”

He lifted a hand and let it fall again.

“He said that he knew. Florrie is quite definite about that, and she strikes me as a truthful witness.”

“Truthful and accurate.”

He nodded.

“So he said that he knew. The event rather bears that out, doesn’t it? Connie Brooke said she knew who had written the letters, and she is dead. Roger Repton said the same thing, and he has gone the same way. It rather looks as if somebody had believed what they said.”

But all this was afterwards. At the time, there was Florrie, rather pleased with herself, and thinking what a story she would have to tell them at home. She would have to tell it at the inquest too-a daunting but at the same time an uplifting thought.

Miss Silver’s voice broke in upon it. She was addressing the Chief Constable.

“I wonder whether you will object to my asking Florrie a question.”

Inspector Crisp had his quick frown for that. He had been on a case with Miss Silver before, and he considered that she took liberties, and had been allowed to take them. He did not doubt that she would be allowed to take this one. And sure enough there was the Chief Constable giving way to her.

“Oh, certainly, Miss Silver. What is it?”

She said with formal politeness,

“Thank you very much, Mr. March. When we were having tea in the dining-room I was sitting near the door with Miss Repton, who had been feeling faint, when Miss Eccles came by with the cup and plate which were afterwards found on the desk in the study. She said that Florrie had told her Colonel Repton was there, and she was taking him a cup of tea. I thought I would like to ask Florrie how she knew that Colonel Repton was in the study-whether she had actually seen him there, and when, and whether he was alone at the time.”

March said, “Well, Florrie?”

Her colour came up.

“There wasn’t anything wrong about my telling Miss Eccles?”

He gave her his pleasant smile.

“Oh, no, nothing like that. You are being a great help, you know.”

Thus encouraged, she relaxed again.

“Well, he’d been there ever since lunch. Miss Maggie, she was there with him just before the Work Party ladies came. She come out when I went through to answer the door. What with them coming in by twos and threes, I was backwards and forwards to the door for the best part of half an hour. One time I went past the study there was Colonel Repton talking, and another man.”

“Another man!”

Florrie nodded.

“I hadn’t let him in, and I was ever so puzzled until I thought, ‘Well, it’ll only be Mr. Barton, and he must have gone round the house and knocked on the window for the Colonel to let him in.’ The study door was on the jar the way Miss Maggie would have left it. She always gives the handle a little turn so that it springs open again. So I went up close, and sure enough it was him.”

“Did you say Mr. Barton?”

“Oh, yes-with the rent, sir. And I thought he couldn’t have known about the Work Party, or wild horses wouldn’t have dragged him, the way he is about ladies.”

“Mr. Barton was in the habit of coming up here and paying his rent?”

“Oh, yes, sir-once a month he’d come. And some funny sort of rent too. He’d come round mostly after dark, and sometimes he’d ring the bell, and sometimes he’d just go round to the study window.”

“You said something about the rent being a funny one. What did you mean by that?”

Florrie let off a faint giggle.

“Well, sir, it was what the Colonel was saying when I come up to the door. He said, ‘Come to pay your peppercorn rent, James?’ and something about always being pleased to see him. And then he said, ‘Break through your rule for once and have a drink.’ And Mr. Barton said, ‘If you don’t know by now that it’s a waste of time to ask me, you won’t ever. It’s wicked stuff,’ he said, ‘and you’d be better without it yourself.’ ”

March’s eyebrows rose.

“Oh, they were on those sort of terms, were they?”

Florrie looked demure.

“Yes, sir-it was all very friendly when Mr. Barton came.”