He came back to find Katharine standing at the table with the teapot in her hand. But she wasn’t looking at it, she was looking at something on the other side of the table. He got the impression that she had been looking at it for some time – something about her expression, something fixed. As he came up to her, she put the teapot down and said without any expression at all,

‘There’s a dead fly.’

‘Flies – at this time of year?’

‘There are always some in the Mews – no proper larders, and people are careless. But it’s dead.’

He said, ‘What – ’ and all of a sudden her hand came out and caught at his. The room was warm, but the hand was very cold. She said,

‘There’s another. Wait!’

They both looked at the table. Beyond Carol’s bright green lacquer tray with the teapot, sugar-basin and cups there was a loaf of brown bread, a plate of scones, a seed cake, a dish of butter pats, and the flat cut-glass dish heaped with Abigail Salt’s apple honey. It was a lovely translucent amber colour. There was a dead fly on it. As they stood there looking, a second fly came buzzing and circling down. It settled on the apple honey, plunged its tiny proboscis down on to the jelly, quivered, and rolled over dead.

Katharine’s ice-cold hand stiffened on William’s warm one in a frantic grip. Neither of them spoke. When the telephone bell rang Katharine’s grip loosened. She went to the writing-table, lifted the receiver mechanically. What she heard was Miss Silver’s voice.

‘Mrs. Eversley?’

‘Yes.’

‘You have received a pot of apple preserve from Mrs. Salt?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do not on any account partake of it. You have not done so?’

‘No.’

The tension was sufficiently relieved for Miss Silver to cough.

‘I am truly thankful to hear it. May I speak to Mr. William Eversley?’

William took the receiver. He put an arm round Katharine and heard Miss Silver say,

‘There has been a very grave development. I am speaking from Selby Street. We are awaiting the arrival of the police. I think that you and Mrs. Eversley should come here at once. The matter concerns you deeply. Will you bring with you the pot of apple preserve which Mrs. Eversley tells me you have not tasted. It should not be touched with the hand, but replaced in its wrappings in such a manner as not to disturb any possible fingerprints.’

After a moment William said, ‘All right,’ and hung up. He and Katharine stood looking at one another.

Chapter Thirty-six

Miss Silver had rung the front door bell of 176 Selby Street about half an hour earlier. She came by appointment, and was most unwillingly received. That she was received at all was due to the fact that in the course of her brief telephone conversation with Mrs. Salt she had taken it upon herself to quote Mr. Tattlecombe with some authority.

‘He would, I think, advise you to see me.’

Abigail’s voice came back stiffly.

‘I do not always follow my brother’s advice.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘In this instance you would, I think, be well advised to do so.’

‘Can you tell me why?’

‘He thought you would find it preferable to a more official visit.

Abigail Salt said in an expressionless voice,

‘You can come at five o’clock.’

Conducted to the upstairs parlour, Miss Silver seated herself and the interview began. In her quiet, restrained manner, Mrs. Salt was formidable. She took her own seat immediately below a grim photographic enlargement representing her mother-in-law in an alarming widow’s cap and a jetted chain strongly suggestive of a fetter. All the furniture in this room had belonged to old Mrs. Salt. It was out of date, without having attained to being antique, but it was solid and handsome, and had cost quite a lot in its day. Amid these surroundings Abigail Salt felt herself to be entrenched in the family tradition. The Salts had been well-to-do, respectable chapel people for a hundred years, and that is far enough for anyone to go back. The clock on the mantelpiece had come from the Great Exhibition of 1851.

Miss Silver could appreciate both the atmosphere and Mrs. Salt’s demeanour. She slightly inclined her head and observed,

‘It is very kind of you to see me.’

Receiving no reply, she pursued her theme.

‘Kind, and if I may say so, very wise.’

Abigail sat quite still with folded hands. She wore the dress reserved for Sundays and tea-parties. She wore her Honiton lace collar and her diamond brooch. These things gave her moral support. What she did not know was that they told Miss Silver she felt in need of it. She looked at her visitor’s well worn coat, at the rubbed fur about her neck, at the black felt hat which she would have considered too shabby to go out in, at the black woollen gloves which were such a contrast to the fur-lined pair reposing in her bedroom drawer next door. When, in spite of all this attention to all this detail, her eyes unwillingly returned to Miss Silver’s face, she looked away again almost at once.

Miss Silver gave her slight cough.

‘I will be quite frank with you, Mrs. Salt. Mr. Tattlecombe asked me to go and see him on Saturday evening, and when I did so he communicated to me the substance of his conversation with you that afternoon.’

Abigail pressed her lips together so tightly that they became a mere pale line. She said nothing.

Miss Silver continued,

‘You must, of course, be aware of the very serious nature of that conversation. What you told Mr. Tattlecombe amounted to an admission that it was your sister-in-law who assaulted Mr. William Smith. You spoke of finding Mr. Tattlecombe’s raincoat wet, and the kitchen poker out of its place and rusty.’

Abigail opened those closed lips and said,

‘I spoke to my brother in confidence.’

‘Mr. Tattlecombe is very much attached to Mr. Smith. He believes his life to be in danger.’

‘That is absurd.’

‘I do not think so. On the occasion of your brother’s accident he declared, and has since maintained, that he was ‘struck down’. That blow was, I believe, intended for William Smith. The second attempt was the one to which I have just referred. All the evidence points to Miss Salt as the assailant. On the third occasion, which might very well have proved fatal, William Smith was on his way back from a visit to this house. He was pushed in the back with a stick whilst waiting to cross the road from an island, and would have been thrown under a motor-omnibus if he had not been saved by the promptitude and strength of the gentleman next to him in the crowd. In the latest attempt one of the wheels of his car was loosened.’

‘My sister-in-law knows nothing at all about cars. And she was laid up all last week with an attack of influenza.’

‘So Mr. Tattlecombe informed me. I do not attribute the attack on your brother or the attempt on the car to Miss Emily Salt. I believe that the other two attempts can be attributed to her. You will see of course, as I have done from the first, that two people are involved. Miss Emily Salt is one of them. I have come to you to find out who is the other, and what is the connection between them.’

Abigail Salt sat there in her handsome dress, the grey curls of her hair neatly ordered, her eyes as round and blue as her brother’s, her cheeks rosy, her lips unnaturally compressed. She opened them to say,

‘I can’t help you.’

Miss Silver looked at her very steadily.

‘I think you can. I do not wish to be misleading. When I say I have come to you to find out who is the second person concerned in this affair, I mean that I have come to you to discover the link between this person and Miss Emily Salt. The person’s identity is known. Where you can help me is – ’

‘Miss Silver, I can’t help you.’

‘I believe you can.’

‘I know of no such person.’