Bill’s eyes were hard on his face.

‘Does she walk in her sleep?’

‘Oh, yes. She used to do it when she was at school-that’s a solid bedrock fact. I followed her and saw her go into the study. Herbert Whitall was lying there on the floor with that ivory dagger a little way off. Lila was bending over him. I wasn’t a moment behind her, so she couldn’t possibly have stabbed him. She got the blood on her hands and dress touching him. He had been dead some time-his hand was cold when I felt it.’

‘Is it cold?’

Adrian said, ‘It will be before the police get here.’

‘Will it?’

‘Of course. Let me finish. Lila woke up and fainted with shock. Push off, Bill! It’s the only think you can do. My story will stick all right-it’s quite a good one. In fact, except for a minor detail or two, it happens to be the truth.’

Eric Haile came into the room and shut the door behind him.

‘Hullo, Waring!’ he said. ‘I don’t know whether you’ll agree with me, but I don’t think Grey’s story is quite good enough.’

Nobody spoke for a moment. The feeling of being in some incalculable kind of nightmare deepened. The ordinary link between cause and effect was gone. Anything might happen at any moment.

Adrian had turned. Bill came round the end of the sofa. Then he said,

‘What exactly do you mean by that Haile?’

Eric Haile smiled.

‘Just what I said-the story isn’t quite good enough.’ He moved to stoop over the body and touch the lifeless wrist. ‘Not quite accurate either. He’s still warm. Whenever it was done, it wasn’t so long ago. And I really don’t think that anyone who was in the drawing-room this evening can have any difficulty in guessing who did it. You weren’t there, Waring, but Adrian was. Also some people called Considine, and a Professor Richardson. Mrs. Considine has a passion for John McCormack, and we put on a record of his from Lucia di Lammermoor. Mrs. Considine was at some pains to give us the story of the opera-Lucy Ashton going mad on her wedding night and stabbing the bridegroom who had been forced upon her. The lovely Lila was considerably affected. She undoubtedly perceived that there was a certain parallel. Adrian had to hold her hand. Very agreeable for both of them. Just previous to this interesting scene the ivory dagger with which poor Herbert seems to have been stabbed had been a good deal in evidence. Well, I ask you! It does all rather hang together, doesn’t it?’

Adrian left the couch and came forward.

‘Look here, Eric-’

‘My dear Adrian, I’m not looking anywhere-I’m ringing up the police.’

‘I don’t know how much you heard, but what I said was true. I did see Lila come out of her room, and I did follow her down the stairs. Everything else apart, there simply wasn’t time for her to have stabbed him.’

Eric Haile walked round the body to the writing-table and took up the telephone receiver.

‘You can tell that to the police,’ he said.

CHAPTER XVI

Ray Fortesque woke in the night with the sound of the telephone bell in her ears. It had stopped ringing before she was really awake, and for a moment she wasn’t sure whether she had heard it or not. She had time to blink at the darkness and to wonder who could possibly be calling her up in the middle of the night before it rang again. She said, ‘Blast!’ jumped out of bed, turned back to snatch the eiderdown, and groped her way to the little hall, where she put on the light. It was so exactly like Cousin Rhoda to have a wall-instrument immediately opposite the door of the flat, thus achieving the minimum of privacy and the maximum of discomfort. She clutched the eiderdown round her with one hand, lifted the receiver with the other, and heard Bill’s voice say, ‘Ray-’ She knew it was his voice, because it did things to her, but if it hadn’t been for that, she wouldn’t have known it. She stopped bothering about the draught under the front door or whether the eiderdown was slipping. She only thought about Bill.

‘What is it?’

‘Ray? It is Ray?’

‘Yes, Bill. What is it?’

‘Something has happened.’

‘What?’

‘Whitall is dead-murdered.’

A most awful icy calm that had nothing to do with draughts drove in on Ray. She said, ‘How?’ and Bill said,

‘He was stabbed.’

She had begun to shake so much that she could hardly hold the receiver. There was a rushing sound in her ears. Through it Bill’s voice came urgently.

‘Ray-Ray-are you there? Don’t go away!’

‘I’m here.’

Whatever happened, she would always be there if Bill wanted her.

‘Then, listen! You’ve got to help! Nobody knows who did it-but Lila was there. I don’t mean at the time, but it must have been soon afterwards. Adrian says she was walking in her sleep. We’re afraid she touched the dagger-there was blood on her hand and on her dress.’

‘Bill, how do you know?’

‘Oh, I was there too. I was going to take Lila away.’

She said on a sharp frightened note,

‘Bill, for God’s sake don’t say things like that! Not on the telephone-not to anyone!’

‘My dear, we’re past all that. Haile walked in on us. He isn’t quite sure whether Lila did it alone, or whether I helped her, but I rather gather he thinks we were in it together.’

‘Bill!’

‘Never mind about that. Listen, because the police will be here any moment, and then I probably shan’t be able to telephone. I want you to come down here. There’s a train at eight-thirty. I’ll meet you if I can, but you may have to take a taxi to Emsworth. Lila’s had the most dreadful shock, and you are the only person who can help her. You and Lila have always been like sisters. No one has the right to keep you out.’

‘I’ll come, Bill.’

He said, ‘Thanks,’ and hung up.

When she had put back the receiver she picked up the eiderdown and went into the bedroom. It was dark, it was cold. Her feet were like ice, and so was her heart. She got into bed, pulled the clothes about her. Herbert Whitall had been murdered, and everyone was going to think that Bill had done it. He had come back from America to find that Lila was going to marry Herbert. He had gone down to Vineyards to take her away, and whilst he was there in the middle of the night Herbert Whitall had been stabbed. What else could anyone possibly think?

Herbert Whitall had been stabbed.

Bill wouldn’t stab a man. It just wasn’t a possible thing. He could have hit Herbert Whitall-he could have hit him hard enough to kill him. But he couldn’t possibly have stabbed him.

The thought was like a little glow of warmth at her heart. Through all the dreadful days to come it never went away. She began to think, to plan.

She switched on her bedside light and looked at the time. It was just after half-past twelve. Eight hours before she could catch that train. She would get up and begin to pack at six. There were one or two telephone calls she would have to make. Fortunately, nothing ever waked Rhoda. She would have to allow a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes for telling Rhoda and letting her fuss. Not more, because her temper wouldn’t stand it, and Rhoda was really frightfully kind. She could manage with one suit-case. She kept her mind on what she would have to take, and she had got as far as house-shoes, when the telephone bell rang again. This time she ran to it eagerly, because it might be Bill.

It was Sybil Dryden. The hard, clear voice was unmistakable.

When you were with her there was a sort of sweetness that lay on the surface like polish, but on the telephone the sweetness was gone. You felt that you were being told what to do, and that it was up to you to get on and do it, even if you were only being invited to tea.

It wasn’t an invitation to tea. The voice said,

‘Ray, is that you?’

‘Yes, Lady Dryden.’

‘Mr. Waring has told you what has happened. We are all in the study waiting for the police, so I heard what he said. Mr. Haile thought it best that we should stay together.’ A touch of the grand manner here. Even at a moment like this Sybil Dryden could convey how much she appreciated the dictatorship of Eric Haile. She went on now without a pause. ‘Mr. Waring rang off before I could stop him. I heard him telling you to come down by the eight-thirty. That won’t do.’