Upstairs Lila was supporting the ordeal of being questioned with perfect calm. Since Adrian was sure that she hadn’t killed Herbert, everything was quite all right. The immense relief of knowing that nobody could make her marry him now really left no room for anything else. Inspector Newbury and Inspector Abbott sat side by side and asked her a great many questions. Some of them she could answer, and some she couldn’t. When she didn’t know the answer she said so. It really wasn’t frightening at all.

‘Why did you go downstairs, Miss Dryden?’

‘I don’t know. Adrian says I was walking in my sleep.’

‘ïs that what he told you to say?’

Lila’s blue eyes opened quite wide. They were very beautiful eyes.

‘Oh, no-he saw me.’

That was Inspector Newbury. Then the London Inspector.

‘Did you go down to meet Mr. Waring?’

‘Oh, no. I was going to wait and see him in the morning.’

‘He wrote and asked you.to meet him?’

She gazed at him earnestly.

‘Oh, yes. And I didn’t know what to do. I thought, and thought, and I didn’t feel as if I could go down. Everything was so empty, and everyone in bed-except perhaps, I thought, Herbert might still be there, and if I went down-’ Her colour went. She said in a whisper, ‘I couldn’t.’

‘You were afraid of him?’

‘Oh, yes’-a shudder shook her-‘dreadfully.’

‘Then why did you go down?’

Ray stood behind the couch. The young man with the mirror smooth hair and the cold blue eyes was trying to catch Lila out. She had to bite her lip to keep back angry words. But there was no need to be angry. Lila wouldn’t be caught, because she was speaking the truth. She just looked at him and said,

‘But I didn’t-at least I didn’t mean to. It was cold, so I sat down on this couch and pulled the eiderdown over me. I had to think whether I would have to go down or not, and I thought I wouldn’t. I thought if I didn’t go down. Bill would come back in the morning, and that would be a great deal better. And then I must have gone to sleep. I didn’t mean to go down-I didn’t really.’

‘You know you did go down?’

‘I didn’t know I was doing it.’

‘You know you went down to the study?’

Her eyes widened.

‘I woke up there.’

‘Go on, Miss Dryden.’

‘Herbert was dead-’

‘How did you know he was dead?’

‘I thought he was-’

‘What made you think so?’

She said, ‘Blood’-in a whispering voice. ‘On my hand-and on my dress-’

‘And that made you think Sir Herbert was dead? Did you think you had killed him?’

She shook her head.

‘I didn’t think-it was all too dreadful. Adrian was there. He says I didn’t. He says he was just behind me.’

‘Did you dream when you were walking in your sleep?’

‘Oh, no-I don’t. At least I don’t remember it if I do.’

‘Do you often walk in your sleep?’

‘I used to when I was at school.’

‘And lately?’

‘Aunt Sybil said I came out on the landing one night last week. I didn’t know I did.’

‘And you don’t remember dreaming last night?’

She shook her head.

‘No-I just woke up. And Adrian was there.’

CHAPTER XXIII

It was about three-quarters of an hour later that Miss Silver, coming through the hall, was aware of Adrian Grey emerging from the passage which led to the study. He was not alone, and his companion was Detective Inspector Abbott. She had been about to go upstairs, but she paused and waited for them with a smiling face and an outstretched hand.

Frank Abbot took the hand and reciprocated the smile. Adrian Grey having mentioned that there was a Miss Silver staying in the house, he was by no means unprepared for the appearance of the lady whom he had been known in moments of expansion to address as Revered Preceptress. They were, all jesting apart, on a footing of deep attachment, and, upon Frank’s side, of a most unfeigned respect. As always in the presence of a stranger, she addressed him with formality.

‘Inspector Abbott-this is indeed a pleasure!’

Frank, on his side, was equally punctilious.

‘My dear Miss Silver! Grey told me that you were here. Perhaps we could have a talk-if you can spare me a little time?’

Adrian passed on, and they were alone. Miss Silver coughed.

‘I should appreciate the opportunity.’

Frank shed his formal manner.

‘Then come along to the study and give me the low-down on everything and everyone.’

She said, ‘My dear Frank!’ but her tone was an indulgent one.

They went down the passage together and came into the study.

No trace of the tragedy remained. Herbert Whitall’s body had been removed long ago. The photographer and the fingerprint man had done their work. The room had been ordered. The light which had shone down upon such a terrible scene now disclosed no trace of it. There was not even a stain on the deep-toned carpet to show where the ivory dagger had dropped from Lila’s bloodstained hand-if indeed it had so dropped. The couch upon which Adrian Grey had laid her stood at its accustomed angle to the fire. A bed of glowing ash sent out a pleasant warmth.

Miss Silver sat down on the sofa, not too near the fire, because the room was really very comfortable, whilst Frank Abbott arranged himself in a casual attitude on the arm of one of the big chairs. When she had opened her knitting-bag and extracted from it little Josephine’s vest and a crochet-hook she found him regarding her with a quizzical smile.

‘Grey tells me that you have been here since one o’clock. You therefore already know all. How much are you going to tell me?’

She drew on a pale pink ball and began to finish off the neck of the vest with a neat crochet edging.

‘My dear Frank, you sometimes talk very great nonsense.’

He laughed.

‘Well, I would like to know who did it. Was it the lovely Lila?’

‘I do not think so.’

‘No more do I. But if it were not for one extraordinary lucky fact, I should say that nine juries out of ten would hardly leave the box-unless they were so overcome by her looks that they couldn’t bring themselves to believe the evidence. I mean, just consider it. I suppose you have heard about the scene in the drawing-room last night-the Lucia di Lammermoor business, with a John McCormack record on the gramophone and Mrs. Considine imparting the story of the opera-the unfortunate Lucy going mad and stabbing her bridegroom. I’ve just had it all from Haile, and he says Lila Dryden was a good deal affected. I gather she didn’t like her bridegroom much better than Lucy liked hers. Grey tried to soft-pedal the whole thing, but you can imagine that the prosecution could make a good deal of play with it. Well, the guests go away at half past ten. Everyone goes upstairs except Whitall, who is in the habit of sitting up late. Round about midnight Lila Dryden comes down, presumably to meet the devoted Bill Waring. A note from him urging her to elope was found in her room. For some reason she opens the glass door in the study instead of the window indicated by him in what, I believe, they call the Blue Room. I can’t think of any reason why she should have done this but apparently she did. She is interrupted by Herbert Whitall. She turns round from the window, sees him, picks up up the dagger which is lying on the writing-table, and strikes blindly with it. As luck will have it, she hits a vital spot. He staggers back and falls. The dagger drops from her hand, staining her dress. Then Mr. Bill Waring, who has got tired of waiting in front of the house, comes up on to the terrace, sees the light, finds the door ajar, and walks in. And at practically the same moment Mr. Adrian Grey comes in by the open door from the passage. He and Bill Waring see each other, and they both see Lila Dryden. She faints. Adrian Grey puts her on the sofa-and by the way, it is rather illuminating that it was into his arms she threw herself and not Bill Waring’s.’