Florence Brand said,

“Like that. He would put on a pair of trousers and a sweater over his bathing-suit unless it was really hot.” She paused, fanned herself with the linen handkerchief, and said in her slow, deep voice, “I had better put you right about our relationship. Felix is not my son.”

“Not? Do you mean that he was adopted?”

“No. I married his father.” She fanned, and added, “When he was two years old.”

It was a public repudiation. Since Felix was probably a murderer, she would have none of him. There was not anyone present who was not aware of the implication. Even Crisp was taken aback. Eliza gave another of those formidable snorts. And for the first time Penny moved. Her little stiff body remained rigid, but she turned her head. Her clear brown eyes rested for a moment upon Florence Brand. They said, “Judas.” Her clear young voice said,

“You are in a great hurry, Aunt Florence.”

Cassy Remington came into the silence that followed. Her chain jingled. She said in what Eliza called her vinegar voice,

“Always a most uncongenial child. Such a shocking temper.”

Penny looked away. It was perhaps the more damning gesture of the two. She went back into her stillness.

The sound of heavy feet came in through the garden door. A constable came up the two steps and stood there looking across at the Inspector.

“Excuse me, sir-”

“Well, what is it?”

“We’ve found the clothes.”

“Where?”

“Shoved in under the bank above high water mark.”

Crisp had a frowning stare. He barked out,

“All right, what are you waiting for? Bring them in!” The frown was turned on Florence Brand. “Son or stepson, madam, I suppose you can identify his clothes?”

She sat affronted. Cassy Remington played with her chain, primmed up her lips, patted the regular waves of her hair.

Coming out of the bright sunshine, the constable found the room embarrassingly full of people. It was really quite light, but it didn’t seem so, coming in like that. He had to thread his way amongst the chairs, the tables, the people. He felt as crowded and uncomfortable as if he was wearing a suit that was too tight for him, but he got up to the table without mishap and dumped the clothes he was carrying in front of Inspector Crisp.

Felix Brand’s old grey flannel slacks. The Inspector picked them up and held them dangling. He addressed Florence Brand.

“Are these your son’s?”

She stared back at him with her prominent brown eyes.

“If they belong to Felix they will have his initials inside the waistband. I have already told you that he is not my son.”

“F.M.B.-is that right?”

“Felix Martin Brand-yes, that is right.”

He let the slacks fall in a heap and picked up the sweater. As he shook it out, there was a sound in the room, a movement, a drawing in of breath. The front of the sweater was stained and spotted, and the right sleeve soaked with blood from elbow to wrist.

Chapter 23

When Miss Silver got back from the beach that morning she found Richard Cunningham waiting for her. She had intended to write some letters, but a single glance informed her that they would not be written. She took him into a bright bare room which contained a sofa, two chairs, and a carpet- very little else. She indicated the largest chair, removed her coat before taking the sofa corner, and extracted Derek’s current stocking from the bag which she had taken to the beach.

Richard watched her without impatience. No hurry and no fuss. He could imagine that she had been brought up on such maxims as, “Self-control is the essence of good breeding,” and “A gentle-woman is never in a hurry.” He found her reposeful, and very steadying to the nerves.

When she had taken up her knitting she gave him her peculiarly sweet smile and said,

“What can I do for you, Mr. Cunningham?”

He was leaning forward in the rather unyielding chair. He made no pretence to anything except gravity as he said,

“I hope you can help me.”

Her eyes dwelt thoughtfully upon his face.

“Something has happened?”

“Yes. Miss Adrian has been murdered.”

After the briefest possible pause she said,

“Yes?”

“You are not surprised?”

She coughed.

“The abnormal is always surprising, and murder is always abnormal.”

“But you are not surprised?”

She was knitting evenly and fast. Her regard dwelt on him as she said,

“It is the abnormal itself which is surprising, not its results.”

“And you were aware that the conditions at Cove House were abnormal?”

“I think you were aware of it yourself, Mr. Cunningham.”

“Not to that extent. I wonder whether you would tell me just what you were aware of.”

Miss Silver quoted from the Book of Common Prayer.

“ ‘Envy, hatred, and malice, and all uncharitableness,’ Mr. Cunningham. Where these are present, murder can never be surprising. May I ask who is suspected of having caused Miss Adrian’s death?”

He said, “Felix Brand. But I don’t know-I am very uneasy. That is why I am here. May I give you the facts very shortly?”

She inclined her head.

“Pray do so.”

“Miss Adrian’s body was found at half past seven this morning by Mrs. Woolley, the daily cook who works for Mrs. Brand. Finding that neither Felix nor Helen Adrian were in their rooms, she imagined that they had gone for a swim, and went down the garden to see if they were in sight. She had made some tea, and was afraid that it would spoil. She found Helen Adrian lying dead under the steep drop where the steps go down from the last terrace to the beach. She may have fallen over, but it was not the fall that killed her. There were horrible injuries to the head. It had been literally battered in-probably with one of the larger stones. The place is above high water mark, and there are plenty of them lying about. No weapon has been found, but if a stone was used it could have been very easily disposed of. The tide was high between twelve and two last night, and that seems to be the most likely time for the murder to have been committed. Miss Remington says she heard a cry, but she cannot fix the time, except that it was dark, and she tangles the whole thing up by suggesting that what she heard was a seagull, a bat, or a cat-I think she put them forward in that order. Now Marian did not hear anything, but she woke very much startled just about high tide. She heard the water very plainly, and you don’t hear it unless the tide is high. I haven’t the slightest doubt that it was a cry that waked her, but she didn’t actually hear anything, so it’s no good as evidence. Everybody else says they didn’t hear anything at all. Helen Adrian went out, and Felix Brand went out, but nobody heard them. Helen was found dead at half past seven this morning, and Felix hasn’t been found at all.”

The busy needles checked for a moment. Miss Silver said,

“Dear me!”

“He apparently went out in a swim-suit, slacks, and a sweater-he often went out to bathe like that. Well, the sweater and the slacks have been found pushed in under the bank above high water mark. The sweater is quite horribly stained-the lower part of the right sleeve practically soaked with blood. If he didn’t kill Helen Adrian he must have handled the body. Whichever way it was, it looks as if he had stripped and just swum out to sea. He couldn’t have got anywhere in a swim-suit, and if he’d meant to try and make a get-away he’d have come back to the house for clothes and money. Whether he killed her or not, he was crazy enough about her to drown himself when she was dead.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“You say ‘whether he killed her or not.’ There is some doubt in your mind?”

He nodded.

“It looks like the plainest of plain cases, but-well, there are one or two things that stick in my throat.”