‘If,’ she said.

‘Well, Marion says it was five o’clock.’

Marion nodded.

‘I heard the clock strike.’

‘I’m sure he telephoned at five o’clock,’ said Hilary. ‘He meant to -it was part of his alibi. He knew very well that Marion wouldn’t let him come round to Harriet’s, and he could telephone from Ledstow or from an A.A. box and she’d never think for a minute that he wasn’t ringing up from his rooms in town. That’s how you do alibis if you’re a criminal. I should have been very good at it.’

‘And suppose she had said, “All right, come along”?’

‘She wouldn’t. Marion never lets anyone go anywhere near Harriet’s. She’d get the sack if she did. He could bank on that.’

Marion looked hard at her.

‘Well, then what happened? This is your story. What happened next?’

‘Well, he must have picked up Mercer at the pub. And after they’d tried to kill me and I’d got away, I think he just stamped on the gas like mad, because he was bound to get back to London and finish up his alibi. I expect he shed Mercer in Ledlington, and then he either just got a train by the skin of his teeth, or else drove on like fury up the London road. I looked up trains while I was waiting for Henry, and there’s a five-forty from Ledlington that gets in at seven. It’s a non-stop theatre train. He could have caught that, and it would account for their not going on looking for me any longer than they did. You see, he’d simply got to have that alibi if I escaped. But I don’t really think he went by train, because he wouldn’t want to leave his car in a Ledlington garage and have someone remembering about it afterwards.’

‘An hour and a half from Ledlington would be pretty good going in a fog,’ said Henry. ‘I don’t believe it can be done.’

Hilary tossed back her hair.

‘You wait till you’ve tried to murder someone and you’ve got to have an alibi to save you, and then you just see if you can’t break a record or two. Even people who aren’t making alibis go blinding along in a fog – you know they do.’

Marion spoke again.

‘It must have been quite ten past seven before I got back. Mrs. Lestrange and Lady Dolling didn’t go away until twenty past six, and then we’d all the models to put away, and Harriet wanted to tell me about her brother’s engagement, and there was the fog. It never takes me less than half an hour to get back.’ She looked at Henry. ‘What time was it when you rang me up?’

‘Oh, it was after half past seven. I was ringing up from the station just before my train went.’

‘There!’ said Hilary, ‘he’d have had plenty of time. I told you so. And I think’ -she sat bolt upright and clasped her knees – ‘I think we ought to get a detective on to that other alibi of his, because I’m quite sure he made that up too, and if he did, a really clever detective would be able to find him out. Marion -’

‘No,’ said Marion.

Hilary scrambled up, ran across, and caught her by the hand.

‘Don’t say no, darling – don’t don’t, don’t! It couldn’t do any harm. It couldn’t hurt Geoff. Marion, don’t say no! I know you can’t bear to have it all raked up – I know exactly how you feel -but won’t you let Henry have the file and go through it with someone? Geoff didn’t do it. There’s some devil at the back of this who has made it look as if he did, but he didn’t – I know he didn’t.’

Marion pushed her away and got up. Without a look or an answer she went to the door, opened it, and went out. It closed behind her. They heard her bedroom door close too.

Hilary ran to the chest, flung up the lid and came running back with the file in her outstretched hands.

‘Here it is! Take it and fly! Quick – before she comes back and says you’re not to!’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Hilary woke up in the dark. One minute she was very fast asleep, plunged in the drowning depths where no dreams come, and the next minute she was clear awake and a little frightened, with the night air coming in smoky and cold through the open window. The curtain was pulled right back, but the room was dark. There was a middle-of-the-night sort of feeling. But if it was still the middle of the night, she could only have been asleep for a very little time, because it was well after midnight when she got into bed.

Something had waked her, she didn’t know what. Something had frightened her awake. She had come up with a rush out of the deep places of her sleep, and she had waked afraid. But she didn’t know what she was afraid of.

She got out of bed, went softly to the door, and opened it. The sitting-room door was open too. The light shone through it into the hall, and in the lighted room Marion was talking to someone in a low, desperate voice. Hilary heard her say,

‘Why don’t you tell me you did it? I’d rather know.’

And with that she went back and sat on the edge of her bed, and didn’t know what to do next. Marion – at this hour! Who was she talking to? Who could she possibly be talking to? It just didn’t fit in -it wasn’t true – Marion wouldn’t. It w.asn’t any good your eyes and ears telling you the sort of things you simply couldn’t believe.

Well, if you didn’t believe this, what did you do next?

Hilary got up, put on her dressing-gown, and crossed the hall. The sitting-room door stood open about halfway. Without touching it or pushing it she stood by the left-haud jamb and looked into the room.

There was no one there but Marion Grey. She was in her nightgown. Its pale green colour made her look even paler than she was. Her hair hung loose – fine, waving, black hair that touched her shoulders and then turned up in something which was not quite a curl. In this soft frame her face had a young, tormented look. Its mask of indifference and pride was down. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Her lips were soft. They trembled. She was kneeling on the hearth, her hands spread out to the fire that had died an hour ago.

Hilary felt as if her heart would break with pity and relief.

She said, ‘Darling – ’ just under her breath, and Marion said in a low voice of pain,

‘You don’t tell me. I could bear it if I knew – if I knew why. There must have been a reason -you wouldn’t have done it without a reason. Geoff, you wouldn’t! Geoff -Geoff’

Hilary caught her breath. Marion wasn’t talking to her, she was talking to Geoff. And Geoff was in Dartmoor.

She began to plead with Geoffrey Grey whose body was in Dartmoor but whose visible image moved and spoke in her dream. She put up a hand as if to hold him.

‘Geoff-Geoff-why don’t you tell me? You see, I know. She told me – that daily woman. You didn’t know about her. But she came back. She had dropped something in the study and she came back for it, and she heard you talking – quarrelling. And she heard what James said. She heard him say, “My own nephew!” and she heard the shot. So you see, I know; It won’t make any difference if you tell me now – they won’t hang you now. She won’t tell -she promised she wouldn’t tell. Geoff, don’t you see that I’ve got to know? It’s killing me!’ She got up from her knees and began to walk in the room, to and fro, bare foot and silent, with the tears running down her face. She did not speak again, but once in a while she sighed.

Hilary did not know how to bear it. She didn’t know what to do. That sighing breath was more piteous than any sob. She was afraid too of waking Marion, and she was afraid to let her go on dreaming this sorrowful dream.

And then Marion turned from walking up and down and came towards the door. Hilary had only just time to get out of the way. She would not have had time if Marion ’s hand, stretched out before her, had not gone to the switch. With a click the light went out. The bulb glowed for a moment and faded into darkness. Marion ’s fingers touched Hilary on the cheek – a cold, cold, icy touch which left her shivering.