‘Nine hundred and ninety-nine men out of a thousand would have picked it up,’ said Henry. ‘I should for one. Any man who’d ever had a pistol of his own would.’

‘Yes?’ said Miss Silver. ‘The Superintendent thought so, too. He is a very intelligent man.’ She coughed. ‘I think that disposes of those two points. I will continue.’

The paper rustled. She went on reading the anguished sentences in her cool, precise voice.

‘ “It’s Mr. Geoffrey that’s a-going to kill him in a quarter of an hour’s time from now.” That’s what he said. I don’t know how I kept from screaming. Such a wicked plot. And Mr. Geoffrey that never done them any harm – only his uncle was fond of him, and Mr. Bertie had set himself to get the money. He done murder for it and put it on Mr. Geoffrey, and that’s the gospel truth if I never wrote another word.

‘Mrs. Thompson she never noticed nothing. She thought I’d come over bad and she thought what a kind husband Alfred was, patting me on the shoulder and talking to me comforting like. If she’d heard what he said she’d have thought different, but she couldn’t hear nothing. Alfred said, “Did he ring Mr. Geoffrey up?” – meaning Mr. Bertie – and I told him Mr. Everton done it himself. And he said, “When?” and I remembered as the clock struck eight when I was in the dining-room. Alfred turns round and shouts to Mrs. Thompson that I’ll be better soon and a pity I didn’t have the tooth out like he said. Then he goes into the pantry and he says to me, speaking quiet, “It’s seven minutes past now, and you’ve got to pull yourself together. At a minute short of the quarter you go upstairs and turn down the bed and look slippy about it, and then you come down and stand by the study door till you hear Mr. Geoffrey, and then you scream just as loud as you can. And remember, you’ve just heard the shot, and if so be there’s any mistake about it, it’s the last mistake you’ll ever make, my girl.” And he picks up one of the knives he was cleaning, and he looks at it and he looks at me. Mrs. Thompson couldn’t see nothing from where she sat, but I could, and I knew well enough that he’d kill me if I didn’t do what he said.

‘So I done it. I swore false to the police, and I swore false at the inquest and at the trial. I swore I heard voices in the study quarrelling, and a shot, and then I screamed and Alfred come running and Mr. Geoffrey opened the door with the pistol in his hand. And so he did, but it was Mr. Bertie shot his uncle and put the pistol there by the garden door for Mr. Geoffrey to find, knowing he’d be sure to come in that way like he always done. And Mr. Geoffrey picked it up, that’s all he done, and come over and tried the door, and when he found it was locked he turned the key same as they reckoned he would. So there was his finger-marks for the police. But he never done it, and I’ve never had a happy moment since. Alfred and me got married next day, but he only done it to shut my mouth, and what’s the good of that?

‘Mr. Bertie he’s come in for the money, and there’s talk of our going to America with what he promised Alfred. It’s a lot of money, but I’ll be dead first. It wasn’t any use my doing what I done, because Alfred’ll kill me just the same. He’s afraid of my talking – ever since I saw Miss Hilary Carew, in the train. I’m writing it down, because he’ll kill me and I want Mr. Geoffrey to get free.’

Miss Silver laid the last sheet down on her knee.

‘She signed it as a statement after it had been read through to her. I think there is no doubt that it is true as far as it goes.’

Hilary sat up. She still held Henry’s arm. You need something to hold on to when the world swings round.

‘I ought to be so frightfully glad – about Geoff and about Marion – but I can’t – not yet. She’s so unhappy, that poor thing!’

Miss Silver’s expression changed. She looked very kindly at Hilary, and said in a gentle voice,

‘It’s better to be unhappy when you’ve done wrong, my dear. The worst thing that can happen to anyone is to be able to hurt other people without being hurt oneself.’

Hilary didn’t answer. She understood that, and it comforted her. She waited a moment, and began to talk about something else.

‘I don’t understand about the time – I don’t understand when Mr. Everton was shot.’

‘It would be just after eight. He telephoned to Mr. Grey at eight. Mrs. Mercer corroborates that – she says the clock struck when she was in the dining-room. It would have been only a minute or two after that.’

‘But, Miss Silver – ’ Hilary’s eyes had a bewildered look – ‘Mrs. Ashley said -you know, that daily help woman I went to see, the one that went back for her letter and heard the shot and all – she said the church clock in Oakley Road struck eight as she came past and it would take her anything from seven to ten minutes from there to Solway Lodge. I thought that helped Geoffrey, but she says the clock was wrong – a good ten minutes out – and that it would be getting on for the half-hour when she got up to the house.’

‘Yes -so you told me,’ said Miss Silver. She sniffed gently. ‘And I told you that clocks were very unreliable as evidence. I think we really cleared this up.

‘We went into it before. Mrs. Ashley did not tell you that the clock was slow – did she? She said she was afraid she was late. But if she thought she was going to be late, the clock was fast, not slow. You know, people find it very difficult to keep their heads about clocks. Hardly anyone would know whether to put their clock on or back for Summer Time if the newspapers did not tell them what to do. Mrs. Ashley is a very muddle-headed person. She used the same expression to me as she did to Miss Hilary, and when I pressed her she became exceedingly confused. I hope it will not be necessary to call her as a witness.’

‘It must be possible to find out whether the clock is fast or slow,’ said Henry in an exasperated voice.

Miss Silver looked decorously competent.

‘Certainly, Captain Cunningham. I interviewed the verger, and found him most obliging. The clock was most undoubtedly fast fifteen months ago – quite ten minutes fast. It has a tendency to gain, and the late Vicar preferred it to be on the fast side, but the present incumbent has it regulated monthly. There is no doubt at all that it was fast on the day of the murder. When Mrs. Ashley heard it strike eight it was really only ten minutes to. She was then at the far end of the road, and she says it would take her a good ten minutes to reach Solway Lodge. She arrived, as she told you, in time to hear Mr. Everton exclaim, “My own nephew!” and when the shot followed she ran away.’

‘Silly ass of me!’ said Hilary.

Henry agreed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Harriet St. Just looked across her showroom and thought she was doing well. These small, intimate dress shows were very good business. People clamoured for tickets, asked if they might bring their friends, and having come, they bought, and went away under a pleasant illusion of recaptured youth. They too would glide unearthly slim, they too would move in grace and beauty, as Vania did.

Marion was certainly well worth her salary. All the same, she mustn’t get any thinner. She was a marvel at showing clothes, but if she went on losing weight they would be liable to drop off her. Harriet’s mouth twisted. Outside business hours she often felt sorry for Marion Grey.

Just at the moment there was no Marion Grey -only Vania who was showing a black afternoon dress high to the throat, with long tight sleeves which came down over the hand. It was called Triste Journée. The heavy crepe took a simple yet tragic line. Marion wore it with a curious inward satisfaction, because Geoffrey was truly dead and it consoled her to wear this mourning robe, as if she wore it for him. She walked slowly round the circle of interested women, her head a little bent, her eyes cast down, her thoughts a long way off. Snatches of comment came to her ears without really reaching her mind. She had to stand, turn, walk round a second time.