“No-they approached me. They had received some very damaging information about Annie Joyce. They suggested that I should bring home some faked-up papers and an out-of-date code-book and let her know I had them. She drugged me and went through my case. I took them one or two things she had handled, so that they could compare the fingerprints. They found them all over the place.”

Lamb sat silent for a moment. Through the silence came the sound of tramping feet. The outer door of the flat shut heavily. The silence fell again. Lamb let it settle. Then he said,

“You needn’t answer this unless you wish-but I’m bound to ask you whether you shot her.”

Philip’s eyebrows lifted.

“I? Certainly not! Why should I?”

“You might have waked up and found her tampering with your case.”

The eyes under those raised brows gave him back a hard grey stare.

“In which case I should have rung up the police.”

“I wonder whether you would, Sir Philip.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t wake up. I told you I had been drugged.”

Lamb grunted.

“You have a revolver, I suppose?”

“Certainly.”

“Where is it?”

“In the study-second right-hand drawer of the writing-table.”

“Sure it’s there?”

“It should be.”

“Well, I think we’ll just have a look. They’ve taken her away.”

They went in, Philip Jocelyn leading the way, Frank Abbott behind. The room had been straightened, the telephone replaced, but the stain on the carpet showed.

Philip pulled out the drawer with a jerk. Writing-pads and envelopes neatly stacked-nothing else. He frowned, pulled out the next drawer above. No revolver. And so on with all the drawers.

“It isn’t here.”

“When did you see it last?”

“Last night. I took out a packet of envelopes. It was there then.”

He stood frowning down at the table. The packet of envelopes lay where he had left it, away beyond the blotting-pad, the paper band unbroken. He said,

“Do you think it was used to shoot her?”

“It might have been. We can’t tell till we get hold of it.”

Frank Abbott thought, “If he did it, he’s putting on a good act. I can’t see why he should shoot her-unless she had the revolver… She might have had it… Say he caught her and she grabbed it-she would know where it was… He gets it away from her-she’s frightened-she reaches for the telephone, and he shoots… Not enough motive-unless there’s something we don’t know-there generally is… Of course he may just have lost his head and let her have it-but he doesn’t look that sort… Quite a brain-wave to get rid of the weapon-you can’t prove she was shot with it if it doesn’t turn up-”

Lamb was saying, “What time did you get to the War Office this morning, Sir Philip?”

“A few minutes after nine. Why?”

“At what time did you leave?”

“Half-past twelve.”

Lamb knew that already. He nodded.

“Did you come back here?”

“No.”

“Sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“Where did you go?”

“First to my cousin Mrs. Jocelyn’s flat. I meant to ask her to give me some lunch, but when I found she had a party I didn’t stay.”

“What did you do?”

“I went and got some lunch, and came on here.”

“You didn’t have any breakfast, did you-nothing but a cup of coffee? Did you make it yourself?”

“No-Miss Joyce made it.”

Lamb grunted. He said,

“There’s no proof that she was Annie Joyce, but we’ll let that pass. She made the coffee? And she was alive when you left the flat?”

“Yes.”

“Then how do you account for the fact that you knew she was dead when you walked in at Mrs. Perry Jocelyn’s?”

Philip stared. He said,

“But I didn’t know. How could I?”

Lamb gave him back his look.

“That’s not for me to say. But you walked in on Mrs. Jocelyn and her party and said, ‘Anne’s dead,’ and walked out again.”

Philip stiffened. He tried to remember just what he had said. He hadn’t seen anyone but Lyn, hadn’t thought of anyone. He had said, “Anne’s dead” because it was on his mind. He had said it to Lyn. And then Lilla had called out, someone moved. And he had just turned round and gone out again. He frowned a little and said,

“You’ve got it wrong. I wasn’t speaking about Annie Joyce. I didn’t know that she was dead-she wasn’t in my mind at all. I was thinking about my wife.”

“Your wife?” The Chief Inspector’s voice sounded solidly unconvinced.

Philip felt a cold rage. Why should anything that was true sound as thin as what he had just said? Even to himself it carried no weight. He said,

“That’s true. If this woman was Annie Joyce, my wife was dead-had been dead for three and a half years. The fact that my case had been tampered with was an absolute proof of that as far as I was concerned. When I walked into Mrs. Jocelyn’s flat I didn’t know that there were other people there-I said what was uppermost in my mind. When I found that we were not alone I walked out again. It wasn’t the sort of thing I could discuss in front of strangers.”

Frank Abbott wrote. The words were down in his notebook now. As his hand travelled, his slightly cynical expression became modified. “Might be-you never can tell,” he concluded. “The Armitage girl comes into it somewhere. The old game-spot the lady. He was in a bit of a hurry to tell her his wife was dead. And he hasn’t mentioned her now. I suppose the Chief is on to that-he doesn’t miss much.”

He shut up his notebook as the telephone bell rang.

CHAPTER 31

Frank Abbott removed the receiver from his ear, covered the mouth piece with his hand, and said,

“It’s Miss Silver, sir.”

The Chief Inspector’s colour deepened, his eyes bulged. The simile of the peppermint bull’s eye recurred irreverently to his Sergeant.

“Miss Silver?” His voice had a note of exasperation.

Frank nodded.

“What do I say?”

“Who did she ask for?”

“Lady Jocelyn.”

The deepened colour became purple.

“What’s she doing in this? You can’t move for her! I suppose she’s recognized your voice! Ask her what she wants!”

“Do I tell her what’s happened?”

Lamb grunted.

“Ask her first!”

Frank addressed himself to the telephone mellifluously.

“So sorry to keep you waiting. The Chief wondered whether you would mind telling him what you wanted with Lady Jocelyn.”

Miss Silver’s slight reproving cough came to them distinctly. The words which followed were only a murmur as far as Lamb and Philip were concerned.

Frank said, “Yes, I’ll ask him.” He turned again. “She wants to come and see you, sir.”

Lamb jerked his big head.

“Well, I haven’t got time to see her-just tell her that! You needn’t wrap it up too carefully either-I haven’t got time. You can tell her it’s a murder case. Genuine this time. None of her mare’s nests, and I’ll be glad if she’ll keep out of my way and let me get on with the job.”

Trusting that his palm had been sound-proof, Sergeant Abbott proceeded to translate.

“The Chief’s very busy. The fact is there’s a bit of a mess-up here. She’s been shot… Yes, dead… No, not suicide… Yes, we’re up to our necks in it. So you see-”

At the other end of the line Miss Silver coughed in a very firm and determined manner.

“I have something of the utmost importance to communicate. Will you tell the Chief Inspector that I hope to be with him in twenty minutes?”

Frank turned back to the room.

“She’s hung up, sir. She’s coming round. She says she’s got something important. She generally has, you know.”

The Chief Inspector came nearer to swearing than he had done for a good many years. He was a chapel member in good standing, but the strain was considerable.

Nevertheless when Miss Maud Silver arrived the meeting between them was attended by all the rites of old acquaintance and mutual respect. They shook hands. She enquired after his health, after Mrs. Lamb’s health, after his three daughters, for whom he had a heart as soft as butter. She remembered which of them was in the A.T.S., the Wrens, the W.A.A.Fs. She remembered that it was Lily who was engaged to be married.