‘Mrs. Jamieson – ’ said Hilary at last. Perhaps if she broke the silence, something would come. But how awful if it didn’t. She felt desperate, and all she could find to say was the woman’s name, ‘Mrs. Jamieson – ’

Annie took pity on her.

‘It was something that happened in the hotel you were saying.’

‘Last year,’ said Hilary, and then she was off with a rush. ‘Oh, Mrs. Jamieson, do you remember signing a statement about the Everton murder?’

This wasn’t in the least how she had meant to begin. Henry was making a most awful face at her.

Annie Jamieson said ‘Ay,’ her voice lifting on the word, her blue eyes steady and dependable. Hilary liked her, and all at once it wasn’t difficult any longer. She felt as if she was talking to a friend.

‘I’ll tell you just why we’ve come,’ she said. ‘I’ve got your statement here, and I want to go through it and just ask one or two questions if you’d be so very kind, because we think that perhaps there’s been some terrible mistake, and it’s my cousin’s husband who’s been sent to prison for life. She’s like my sister really, and she’s so dreadfully, dreadfully unhappy -so I thought if you could help us – ’

‘It’s all true that I put my name to – every word of it’s true. I can’t say any different.’

‘I don’t want you to. I only want to ask you some questions.’

Hilary rummaged in her bag and produced a sheet of paper on which she had copied Annie Robertson’s statement. The things she was to ask were quite fresh and bright in her mind now. She read the statement through.

Annie Robertson said Mr. Bertram Everton had been staying in the hotel for three or four days before July 16th. He might have come on the 11th, or the 10th, or the 12th. She couldn’t say for certain, but they would know in the office. He had room No. 35. She remembered Tuesday, July 16th -she remembered Mr. Everton complaining about the bell in his room. He said it was out of order, but it seemed all right. She said she would have it looked at, because Mr. Everton said sometimes it rang and sometimes it didn’t. It was at about three o’clock in the afternoon that Mr. Everton complained about the bell. He was writing letters at the time. Later that evening at about half past eight his bell rang and she answered it. Mr. Everton told her he wanted some biscuits. He said he didn’t feel well and was going to bed. She brought him the biscuits. She thought he was the worse for drink. She brought him his tea next morning, Wednesday, July 17th, at nine o’clock. He seemed all right then and quite himself.

‘That was what you signed, Mrs. Jamieson.’

‘Ay, that’s just the way it was. I’d not put my name to anything that wasn’t true.’

‘Well then, I want to ask you about Mr. Everton and the bell. You said he complained about it.’

‘Ay.’

‘Did you come to the room for something, or did he ring for you?’

‘He rang.’

‘He rang to say the bell wouldn’t ring?’

‘Ay. I didn’t think it was just very sensible, but he said whiles it rang and whiles it didn’t ring.’

‘You said he was writing letters. How was he sitting when you went into the room?’

‘He was by the window. There’s a wee table there.’

‘Did he have his back to you then?’

‘Ay – he was writing.’

‘But he turned round when he spoke to you?’

‘No, he didn’t. He just said, “Yon bell’s out of order – whiles it rings and whiles it doesn’t,” and kept on with his writing all the time.’

‘Then he didn’t turn round at all?’

‘No.’

‘Then you didn’t see his face?’

‘No, I can’t just say that I did.’

‘Then how do you know that it was Mr. Everton?’

Annie stared.

‘It was Mr. Everton all right -you couldn’t mistake yon red hair.’

‘It was just the hair you saw and not the face?’

‘Ay – but you couldn’t mistake it.’

Hilary leaned forward.

‘Lots of people have red hair.’

Annie plaited her skirt in her fingers. She went on staring at Hilary. She said in a surprised voice,

‘No that kind o’ red hair.’

‘What kind?’

‘Gey long on his neck for a gentleman. You couldn’t mistake it.’

Hilary remembered Bertie Everton’s hair – ‘Gey long for a gentleman,’ as Annie said. She nodded.

‘Yes – he does wear it long.’

And Annie nodded too, and said, ‘Ay.’

Hilary went back to the statement.

‘Well, that’s all about the bell. You didn’t see his face then, but only the back of his head and his red hair. And in the evening he rang for you again?’

‘Ay.’

‘At half past eight?’

‘Ay.’

‘He said he wanted some biscuits, and he told you he didn’t feel well and was going to bed, and you brought him the biscuits.’

‘Ay.’

‘Now, Mrs. Jamieson, did you see his face that time?’

Hilary’s heart was beating as she asked the question, because everything hung on it – everything – for Geoff, and for Marion.

A deep, straight furrow appeared between Annie Jamieson’s brows.

‘He rang his bell,’ she said, speaking slowly, ‘and I knocked and went in.’

‘How did you get in?’ said Henry suddenly.

She looked round at him, puzzled.

‘The door was a wee thing open like.’

‘And was it open in the afternoon when he rang about the bell?’

‘Ay, sir.’

‘It was open both times? You’re quite sure of that?’

‘Ay, I’m sure of that.’

‘All right – carry on.’

She turned back to Hilary.

‘You knocked and went in,’ said Hilary.

‘Ay. And Mr. Everton was looking out of the window, and he said without turning round, “I’m not at all well -I’m going to bed. Get me some biscuits, will you?”’

‘And when you came back with the biscuits, what was he doing then?’

‘He was washing his face,’ said Annie Jamieson.

‘Washing his face??

‘Ay – he’d the towel to it, drying it.’

Hilary’s heart leapt.

‘Then you didn’t see his face that time either?’

Annie looked puzzled.

‘He’d the wee towel up to it, drying it like.’

‘Did he speak?’

‘Ay – he said, “Put them down.” So I put them down and come away.’

Hilary looked down at the statement again.

‘You said you thought he was the worse for drink.’

‘Ay – he was that.’

‘Why did you think so?’

Annie stared.

‘I didn’t think – I was sure.’

‘Why? I mean you didn’t see his face.’

‘There was an awful strong smell of spirits. And there was the way he spoke – it wasn’t like his own voice at all.’

Hilary said, ‘I see.’ She tried not to think what this might mean. She looked just once again at the paper in her hand.

‘And when you took him his tea at nine o’clock next morning, he was all right then and quite himself?’

‘Ay – he was all right then.’

‘And you saw his face that time?’

‘Oh ay – he was quite himself.’

Henry struck in.

‘Then it comes to this, Mrs. Jamieson – you did not actually see Mr. Everton’s face at any time on Tuesday, July 16th. Your statement only mentions the afternoon, but I take it you didn’t see him in the morning.’

‘No, I didn’t see him – he had his door locked.’

‘So there was no time on Tuesday, July 16th, when you actually saw Mr. Everton’s face?’

‘No.’ She began to say something, and stopped herself, looking from one to the other in a bewildered manner. If it wasna Mr. Everton, who was it?’ she said.