Under this soothing treatment Frank Abbott observed his Chief relax. “And the marvellous part is that it isn’t put on. She’s really interested. She really wants to know about Lily’s young man, and whether Violet is going to get a commission. He’d see through it like a flash if she was putting it on. But she isn’t, she doesn’t-she really wants to know. Astounding woman, Maudie.”

Lamb put a period to the compliments by saying,

“Well, I’ve got my hands rather full, Miss Silver. What did you want to see me about?”

They were alone in the flat. Philip Jocelyn had gone back to the War Office. Miss Silver selected a small upright chair and sat down. The two men followed her example.

Frank Abbott, who could make himself a great deal more useful than anyone would have supposed, had tidied up the hearth. He had also lighted the fire. Miss Silver regarded it with approbation, and remarked that the weather was really very cold for the time of year, after which she coughed and addressed herself to Lamb.

“I was very much shocked to hear of this new fatality. I feared that she was in danger, but I had, of course, no idea that a catastrophe was imminent.”

“Well, I don’t know about a catastrophe, Miss Silver. She wasn’t up to any good, you know. Or perhaps, for once, there’s something you don’t know. Just between you and me and Frank here-I know I can trust you not to talk-she was an enemy agent.”

“Dear me! How extremely shocking! I suspected something of the sort, but of course there was no proof.”

“Oh, you suspected it, did you? Why?”

To Frank Abbott, Miss Silver’s manner indicated that she considered the Chief Inspector to be lacking in what might be called the finer shades of courtesy. She said a little primly,

“It is difficult to say just how an impression is received. As I said, there was no proof at all, but I thought she must have had some guilty knowledge in the matter of poor Miss Collins-”

“Accident,” interjected Lamb-“pure accident.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“I think not. It occurred to me that Lady Jocelyn-”

Lamb interrupted again.

“Sir Philip says she wasn’t Lady Jocelyn-says she wasn’t his wife-says she was the other woman there was all the talk about, Annie Joyce.”

“That does not surprise me. Lady Jocelyn could have no interest in the death of Nellie Collins. Annie Joyce might have had a very vital interest. Miss Collins undoubtedly knew of some distinguishing mark which would have enabled her to recognize the child she had brought up. This would give Annie Joyce a very strong motive.”

Lamb gave one of his grunts.

“I don’t know-you may be right. I’ll tell the police surgeon to look out for distinguishing marks. Well, you haven’t said how you got your ‘impression.’ ”

“From the whole circumstances, I think. I formed the opinion that an impersonation was probably taking place, and it struck me that it would have been very difficult for Annie Joyce to have planned it and carried it out without assistance. How did she know that Sir Philip was in England? She did know, because she rang up Jocelyn’s Holt from Westhaven and asked for him. After Miss Collins’ death I looked up the accounts in the Press again. I was struck by the coincidence of a lost wife turning up from occupied France just as Sir Philip was about to take up a confidential post at the War Office. His work is, I believe, very confidential.”

“And who told you that?” said Lamb.

Miss Silver smiled at him.

“You do not really expect an answer, do you?… To return to what I was saying. I could not help thinking that it would be very useful to the Germans if they could plant an agent in Sir Philip Jocelyn’s household. In fact, I thought her appearance a little too well timed.”

Lamb sat looking at her. She wore the old black jacket with its narrow shoulders and worn fur collar, the neat dowdy felt hat with its small bunch of purple pansies on the left-hand side. Her hands in their shabby black kid gloves were folded in her lap. He was thinking, “Looks as if ten bob would buy her up, but there’s something about her-you can’t get from it.” He said,

“Well, that’s that-she was an enemy agent all right. She drugged Sir Philip last night and went through his papers. Seems he suspected her, and they were a fake lot. Military Intelligence went through them for fingerprints and found hers all over the place. We come in to arrest her, and there she is, by the table in the study, shot through the head. The question is, did Sir Philip catch her at his case and shoot her out of hand? Some men might. I’m bound to say he doesn’t look that kind to me.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“If the papers were not genuine, there would be very little motive for his shooting her. He might have done so if he had suddenly discovered that she was an enemy agent, but not if, as I understand, he knew that already and was a party to the trap which had been laid for her.”

“Um-that’s a point. Yes, there’s something in that. Anyhow he says he left her alive. They both had coffee-her bedroom was done but not his-the grate in here was all in a mess. The police surgeon says she’d been dead some hours at least. We’ll know more about that later. Well, Sir Philip starts out at twenty to nine. The porter saw him go. Says he’d just looked at his watch because he was expecting work-men round to see to the skylight on this floor-it was warped, and the blackout wouldn’t stay put-so he was about and taking notice at the time. He says Sir Philip went off at twenty to, and he says he was looking queer. The men he was expecting came in at nine o’clock and went upstairs. From then on, there they were until half-past twelve, right outside this flat-nobody could go in or out without their seeing them, and nobody did go in or out. We got on to the men, and they’re positive about that.”

Miss Silver said, “Dear me-” in a meditative manner.

Frank Abbott considered his Chief’s superior tone a little overdone as he continued.

“That narrows things down a bit-you’ll admit that, I suppose. She must have been dead before the men came at nine. That gives twenty minutes after Sir Philip left for someone to have got in and shot her and got away again. The porter was hanging about looking out for his men, and he says he didn’t see anyone.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“No doubt you pressed him on this point. People are very apt to say they haven’t seen anyone, when what they really mean is that they have not seen anyone whom it would occur to them to suspect.”

“Quite so. And, as you say, I pressed him. Actually, three people went up and came down again whilst he was waiting for the workmen-the postman, whom he knows personally, a boy delivering milk, and a man from the laundry.”

“Had the milk been taken in?”

“No, it hadn’t. That looks as if she was dead by the time it came.”

“For which flat was the laundry?”

“He doesn’t know. It was just after Sir Philip went, and he was at the back of the hall. The man went past with the laundry-basket on his head-he didn’t take any more notice than that. Three of the flats have new tenants-he doesn’t know where they go for their laundry.”

Miss Silver coughed and said, “Quite so.”

Lamb banged his knee.

“Look here, you don’t suggest that a perfectly strange laundry man comes in here, knows just where to put his hand on Sir Philip’s revolver, shoots the woman and goes off again with the weapon, all inside of five or six minutes?”

Miss Silver coughed again.

“It does not take very long to shoot anyone. Sir Philip’s revolver may not have been used. If she considered herself to be in danger she may have tried to get hold of it-she would, of course, know where it was. After committing the crime it would, perhaps, occur to the murderer that he might throw suspicion on Sir Philip by removing it. This is, however, mere speculation.”