Miss Silver came back, walking briskly.

‘Mrs. Mercer is not dead,’ she said – ‘oh, dear, no. She has fainted. She will certainly recover and be able to make a statement. Constable, I think you had better take that man to the police-station. I will see that nothing is interfered with here. Captain Cunningham, I should like your help in getting Mrs. Mercer on to the bed -I cannot manage her alone. And if you, Miss Hilary, will blow up that fire and put on a kettle, we will make her a nice cup of tea. In fact, I think we should all be the better of a nice cup of tea.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

We shall have to telephone to Cousin Selina,’ said Hilary. She pushed back her hair and gazed rather wanly at Henry.

It was actually only about two hours since she had smashed the ink-bottle in Alfred Mercer’s face, but it felt like a long and sordid week. The large Scotch policeman had taken his prisoner away. A detective had arrived to take charge of the flat. Mrs. Mercer had come out of her swoon only to go from one weeping fit into another until she was taken away in a taxi with a policeman and Miss Silver in attendance. Henry had then removed Hilary to an hotel, where she had got the worst of the ink off her hands and resigned herself to the fact that it would never quite come off her coat. They had just had lunch.

‘Henry, we shall have to telephone to Cousin Selina,’ she said.

‘I don’t see why. She wasn’t expecting us back to lunch, anyhow.’

‘It feels like months,’ said Hilary with a shudder. ‘Henry, can’t you get married in Scotland just by saying you’re married? I mean could we just do it, and then we needn’t go back at all? I mean, I don’t feel like Cousin Selina.’

Henry hugged her.

‘Darling, I wish we could! But you’ve got to have a Scottish domicile nowadays.’

‘How do you get one?’

‘Three weeks’ residence, I believe. You see, I’ve never lived in Scotland, though my name is Scotch. But we can get married a lot quicker than that in England.’

That’s no good,’ said Hilary in a forlorn sort of voice. She rubbed her cheek against his coat sleeve. ‘It’s all rather beastly – isn’t it? I mean about Mrs. Mercer. She -she cried so. Henry, they won’t do anything to her? Because whatever she did, he made her do it. She wouldn’t dare to go against him. Whatever she did, he made her do it – like he did with that confession.’

‘H’m – ’ said Henry. ‘I wonder if she did shoot James Everton. It’s possible, you know.’

‘I know it is. That’s what’s making me feel so bad. I do hope she didn’t.’

‘If she did, I don’t see where Bertie Everton comes in – and he does come in, he must come in. Hullo – I’ve only just thought of it – where’s that parcel I had?’ He jumped up from the sofa corner where he and Hilary had been sitting very close together and began to feel in all his pockets.

Hilary looked bewildered.

‘What are you talking about darling? You hadn’t any parcel.’

‘It wasn’t a parcel, it was evidence, with a capital E – and I’ve lost it!’ He ran both hands distractedly through his hair. ‘Hang it all, I can’t have lost it! I had it in the street when I was talking to Miss Silver. We were talking about it, and then we got the wind up about you and I forgot all about it. You know, Hilary, I don’t want to rub it in, but if you’d done what you were told and stayed where you were put – ’

She gazed meekly at him through her eyelashes.

‘I know, darling -Mrs. Mercer would have been dead.’ The meekness vanished. ‘She would – wouldn’t she?’

Henry threw her a look of frowning dislike.

‘Anyhow, I’ve lost that dashed parcel, and if you hadn’t – ’

‘Not quarrelling,’ said Hilary with a quiver in her voice – ‘please not.’ And all at once nothing mattered to Henry in the world except that she shouldn’t cry, and nothing mattered in the world to Henry except that he should love her, and hold her close, and make her feel safe again.

Miss Silver entered upon a very touching scene. She stood just inside the door and coughed gently, and then neither of them took any notice of that she waited for a moment and thought it was pleasant to see two young people so much in love, and then coughed again a good deal louder than before.

Hilary lifted her head from Henry’s shoulder with a start. Henry jumped up. Miss Silver spoke in her ladylike voice.

‘I was afraid you might be worrying about your parcel, Captain Cunningham. I took charge of it, as I thought it would be safer with me.’ She held it out, a shabby, disreputable parcel tied with a raffish piece of string.

Henry took it from her with considerable relief.

‘You’ve opened it?’

Miss Silver appeared surprised and pained.

‘Oh, dear me, no – though I confess that I have felt curious. You were telling me that Mrs. Francis Everton gave it to you, and that it contained a very important piece of evidence.

‘It contains a red wig,’ said Henry. He slipped off the string and dropped the paper to the floor. A most authentic red wig emerged.

Hilary said ‘Oh!’ and Miss Silver said, “Dear me.’ They all looked at it – red hair of a peculiar shade, red hair worn longer than is usual for a man, red hair of the exact shade of Bertie Everton’s hair, and worn as he wore his.

Miss Silver drew a long satisfied breath.

‘This is indeed an important piece of evidence. I congratulate you with all my heart, Captain Cunningham.’

Hilary’s eyes were bright and frightened.

‘What does it mean?’ she said in a troubled whisper.

‘That,’ said Miss Silver, ‘I am now in a position to explain. Will you both sit down? There is really no need for us to stand. No, Captain Cunningham, I prefer an upright chair.’

Hilary was glad enough to get back into the sofa corner. She slipped her hand inside Henry’s arm and looked expectantly at Miss Silver sitting bolt upright in an imitation Sheraton chair with a bright yellow shell on the back. Miss Silver’s mousy grey hair was smooth and unruffled, and her voice was prim and calm. The pansies bloomed serenely in her tidy dowdy hat. She removed her black kid gloves, folded them neatly, and put them inside her bag.

‘Mrs. Mercer has made a statement. I think that what she has said this time is the real truth. The wig which enabled Francis Everton to impersonate his brother and thus provide him with an alibi on the day of the murder is a strongly corroborative piece of evidence.’

‘It was Frank Everton at the hotel – Frank? said Hilary.

‘I was sure of it from the first,’ said Miss Silver.

‘But he was here – he drew his allowance here in Glasgow that afternoon.’

Miss Silver nodded.

‘At a quarter to six. Let me run over the details, and you will see how it all fits in. Bertie Everton’s alibi depends on the evidence of the people who saw him in the Caledonian Hotel on Tuesday, July 16th, the day of the murder. His own account is that after dining with his uncle on the evening of the fifteenth he caught the 1.5 from King’s Cross, arriving in Edinburgh at 9.36 on the morning of the sixteenth, that he went straight to the Caledonian Hotel, where he had a late breakfast and put in some arrears of sleep. He lunched in the hotel at half-past one, and then wrote letters in his room. In the course of the afternoon he complained to the chambermaid that his bell was put of order. He went out some time after four, enquiring at the office if there had been any telephone message for him. He did not return to the hotel until getting on for half-past eight, when he rang and asked the chambermaid to bring him some biscuits as he did not feel well and intended to go to bed. In her statement she says that she thought he was the worse for drink, but when she brought him his tea at nine o’clock next morning he seemed all right and quite himself.’