Hilary said, ‘Oh – ’ and Henry said quickly, ‘What was the name?’

Miss Silver allowed her knitting to fall into her lap.

‘The name was Everton – Mrs. Bertram Everton.’

‘What!’ said Henry. Then, after a moment of stupefaction, ‘Who – I mean what? I mean, Bertie Everton isn’t married.’

‘Thirty years ago!’ gasped Hilary – “Bertie’s mother -Aunt Henrietta – the one that brought the red hair into the family!’

‘Exactly,’ said Miss Silver.

‘Was anything known about this?’ said Henry after a pause spent in dotting I’s and crossing T’s. ‘Hilary, did Marion know that this Mercer woman had been in service with the Everton family before she came to James Everton?’

Hilary looked bewildered.

‘She never said.’

Miss Silver glanced from one to the other.

‘A connection between Mrs. Mercer and Bertie Everton’s family, especially one of old and long standing, must surely have been mentioned at the time of the trial – if it had been acknowledged. If it was not mentioned, it must have been because it was not known.’

‘But look here, Miss Silver,’ said Henry – ‘how could it have not been known? If this Louisa Anketell Mercer woman was his brother’s cook for years, James Everton must have known her by sight.’

‘That is a point, Captain Cunningham. But a cook in a big house might never be seen by a visitor.’

‘But he wasn’t!’ cried Hilary. ‘I mean he wasn’t a visitor – I mean James Everton wasn’t! Marion told me. He had a frightful row with his brother Bertram because they both wanted to marry Henrietta, and James never went there, or saw them, or anything.’

‘That certainly makes things easier,’ said Miss Silver. ‘I think we may assume that Mrs. Mercer concealed her previous connection with the Everton family. She may have done so because she felt that it would be no recommendation, or – there may have been a more sinister reason. We are bound to give weight to the fact that her employer’s nephew Bertie Everton instead of being a complete stranger to her was someone whom she had seen grow up from childhood and to whose mother she owed a deep debt of gratitude.’

‘That’s all very well,’ said Henry. ‘But debt of gratitude or no debt of gratitude, are you going to tell me that Mrs. Mercer perjured herself and swore away a perfectly innocent man’s life just because she’d once been cook to the real murderer’s mother? I take it that you are now casting Bertie Everton for the part of the murderer. Hilary, of course, is quite sure he did it, but then she doesn’t bother about evidence – I suppose you do.’

‘A good deal of evidence will be necessary, Captain Cunningham, if Mr. Geoffrey Grey is to be got out of prison. I am not assuming that Mr. Bertie Everton was the murderer. I have merely suggested that you and Miss Hilary should check up that very useful alibi of his.’

‘You say you are not assuming that Bertie Everton was the murderer -and unless his alibi breaks down he couldn’t have been, because he simply wasn’t within four hundred miles of Putney when James Everton was shot. But suppose his alibi was a fake and he did shoot his uncle, do you mean to say that a poor frightened creature like Mrs. Mercer would instantly on the spur of the moment invent a story which incriminates Geoffrey Grey and, what’s more, stick to it under cross-examination?’

‘I didn’t say anything about the spur of the moment,’ said Miss Silver gravely. ‘The murder of Mr. Everton was very carefully planned. Observe that Alfred Mercer married Louisa Anketell the following day. Notice must have been given of that marriage. I believe it was part of the plan, and was at once a bribe and a safeguard. Observe also the deaf woman who was invited to supper. Her evidence cleared the Mercers as, I believe, it was intended to do, and her deafness made it certain that she would not know at what hour the shot was really fired. Everything about this case points to systematic timing, and a very careful consideration of detail. The person who planned this murder is extremely ruthless, ingenious, and cunning. I shall be very glad to feel that Miss Carew is at a safe distance during the next few critical days.’

‘You really think she is in danger?’ said Henry.

‘What is your own opinion, Captain Cunningham?’

Hilary shivered, and quite suddenly Henry’s opinion was that he would like to fly away with her in an aeroplane to the Mountains of the Moon. And on the top of that he remembered the foggy Ledstow road and his feet were cold. He said nothing, and Miss Silver said.

‘Exactly, Captain Cunningham.’

Hilary shivered again.

‘I keep thinking about Mrs. Mercer,’ she said. ‘She’s afraid -she’s awfully afraid of him. That’s why she wouldn’t speak to me last night. Do you think it’s safe for her – in that cottage – all alone with him?’

‘I think she is in very great danger,’ said Miss Silver.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

If I’d had to keep my temper for another second I should have burst!’ said Hilary.

Henry slipped a hand inside her arm.

‘If you’re going to develop a temper, the engagement’s off again,’ he said firmly.

Hilary wrinkled her nose at him.

‘I never said it was on. Oh, Henry, isn’t Cousin Selina grim? Much, much, much worse than I remembered.’

They had just emerged from Mrs. McAlister’s house In Murrayfield Avenue and were walking away from it as rapidly as possible. Mrs. McAlister was Cousin Selina, and the visit, which had only begun over night, had not so far added very greatly to the gaiety of anyone concerned.

‘Her husband was a pet,’ said Hilary. ‘He was a professor or something. He used to give me sweets, and she always said they were bad for me. And she’s got worse since he died, and the horrid part of it is that she is our relation, not him. She’s Marion ’s and my grandfather’s first cousin twice removed, and her name was Selina Carew, so it’s no good pretending she doesn’t belong. Fancy starting in about Geoff practically the first minute we got off the train! And when you got her off that she had a go at lipstick and nail-polish, and then skidded back to Geoff again? I don’t know how I’m going to stick it out. How long do you think it’s going to take us to dig up all this stuff Miss Silver wants?’

‘That depends,’ said Henry.

‘Henry, do stop being monosyllabic and non-committal! What are we going to do first – garages, or Annie Robertson? Or shall we make a sort of sandwich and put her in the middle?’

‘We’ll do her first. She oughtn’t to take any time.’

But at the Caledonian Hotel it emerged that Annie Robertson was no longer there. She had left to be married. After some pressure and some delay a girl was produced who said that Annie was a friend of hers, and her married name was Jamieson, and she was living out at Gorgie in a ‘nice wee flat’. She obliged with the address, and to Gorgie Henry and Hilary proceeded on the top of a tram.

There were a great many stairs up to Mrs. Annie Robertson Jamieson’s flat. They were clean but they were steep. Mrs. Jamieson opened her door and stood waiting for them to explain themselves. She was a large, fair young woman with rosy cheeks and a pair of buxom arms which were bare to the elbow.

Hilary explained.

‘We’ve come on from the Caledonian Hotel, Mrs. Jamieson. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, we should so very much like to talk to you for a few minutes. It’s about something that happened in the hotel last year, and we think you might be able to help us.’

Annie Jamieson’s round blue eyes became even rounder.

‘Will it be a divorce? Because my man’s real strict about divorce.’

‘Oh no,’ said Hilary as quickly as possible.

‘Will you come in then?’

They came in. The flat smelt of kippers and soft soap. The sitting-room had bright red curtains and a red and green linoleum. There were two chairs and a sofa upholstered in crimson plush, the produce of Annie Robertson’s savings and the pride of her heart. They sat down and there was one of those silences. Hilary had forgotten every single thing she had meant to say, and Henry had never meant to say anything at all. Garages might be his job, but ex-chambermaids were Hilary’s.