“You say you saw all this. Where were you?”

“Of course I saw it all! You don’t think I would make a thing like that up, I hope! I looked between the banisters, and through the lift shaft. There is only the steel framework when the lift isn’t up. And Mr. Renshaw said, ‘What have you done to her?’ And Mr. Craddock said he hadn’t done anything. And he said it was the girl who had hurt him-at least that is what he meant.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘I was the one that got hurt.’ And he said, ‘I’ve had enough.’ And then Mr. Renshaw took that girl into poor Mary Craddock’s flat and banged the door.”

“Is that all you heard them say? Remember that this is important and you must be as accurate as you can. Don’t leave anything out, and don’t put anything in.”

“You needn’t caution me about being accurate, Inspector. Often and often my friends have told me that I have an absolutely photographic memory. Now let me see-he said that girl had hurt him-”

“I don’t think that is quite accurate.”

“That is what he meant,” said Miss Bingham firmly. “He looked quite dazed, and I’m sure the blood was simply pouring down his face. And I’ve always said that if a girl leads a man on she has only herself to thank for what happens. What was she doing in his flat at one o’clock in the morning? Shameless, I call it-shameless! And then she throws her arms round Peter Renshaw’s neck and says, ‘Don’t let him touch me!’ ”

“In fact, you gathered that Mr. Craddock had alarmed Miss Grey to such an extent that she threw herself on Mr. Renshaw’s protection after striking Mr. Craddock with-well, there’s no harm in saying that it must have been the decanter, because we found it broken and there was glass in the wound.”

“But that wouldn’t have killed him, Inspector.”

“Mr. Craddock was shot.” The Inspector’s tone was curt. “Now, Miss Bingham, I should like to know how Miss Grey was dressed, if you don’t mind.”

“Full evening dress, Inspector. Silver lamé, and her poor Aunt Mary not dead a month! I don’t know what girls are coming to! And no back to it!”

The Inspector wiped his brow.

“Well, what happened after Mr. Renshaw and Miss Grey had gone into number nine?”

“Mr. Craddock went back into his flat.”

“And then?”

Miss Bingham hesitated, sniffed slightly, and said,

“I wanted to see if that shameless girl was really going to stay.”

“How long did you wait?”

“Half an hour. I said to myself, ‘I will give her half an hour, and if she doesn’t come out then, well, I shall know what to think.’ And I did. It was exactly half past one when I put my light out.”

“That puts the murder at some time after half past one. After you put your light out did you go to sleep?”

“Not immediately-oh, no, I was too much horrified and disgusted. I heard the clock strike two.”

“And no sound from down below?”

“Not then.”

“What do you meant by not then?”

“Ah!” Miss Bingham put up a hand and pulled at her bog-oak necklace. “Ah! That is where I feel that my evidence is extremely important, because if Mr. Craddock was shot, you must of course want to know when the shot was fired.”

“Did you hear it?” said the Inspector quickly.

Miss Bingham looked at him archly.

“I heard something. But I mustn’t say it was a shot, must I-not unless I am perfectly sure, because of course I shall be on my oath, and you said yourself that I must be very accurate.”

Inspector Lamb controlled himself and sat back.

“Would you kindly tell me what you heard, Miss Bingham?”

“Ah, but that is just what I cannot do, Inspector. I woke up-I am an extremely light sleeper, and there was something very heavy passing down the road. The traffic is shocking nowadays-so bad for the nervous system.”

The Inspector’s voice grated a little as he said,

“I am not asking you about the traffic. I am asking you if you heard anything that might have been a shot.”

Miss Bingham shook a finger at him reprovingly.

“Ah, yes, yes-but don’t you see that if the shot was fired at that moment, it is very unlikely that anyone would have heard it. The vehicle that was passing must have been exceptionally heavy-one of those great brewer’s drays perhaps. And-it is extremely shocking to think of-but would not a person who meant to make a murderous attack on Mr. Craddock be likely to avail himself of just such an opportunity? I can assure you that the windows quite rattled.”

“To say that a thing might happen isn’t to say that it did happen,” said the Inspector tersely. “I’m afraid if that is all you have to tell us-”

“Oh, but it isn’t!” said Miss Bingham. “Oh, no-not by any means. I don’t know whether I went to sleep again or not-you see what an accurate witness I am-I may have done, or I may not. I am inclined to think I did, because I have a vague recollection of a dream in which I was skiing with the dear Vicar. Not that either of us has ever done so, but one sees pictures, and of course dreams are so very absurd, are they not? Well, well, I mustn’t digress, but, you see, I must really have dropped off, perhaps just for a minute, perhaps for longer, and then I woke up again. I don’t know if you are at all psychic, Inspector-”

The Inspector said “Certainly not!” in a barking tone. Detective Abbott covered his mouth with his hand.

“All the Binghams are psychic,” said Miss Bingham with pride. “My grandfather-but no, I merely want you to understand how it was that I awaked in a state of great uneasiness. The atmosphere was most menacing. I felt an immediate necessity to investigate. I put on the light and looked at the clock. It was five minutes to three. I slipped on my dressing-gown and opened my front door. I was immediately struck by the fact that no light came up from below. As I told you before, I had put out the light on my own landing at a little before one, but it is usual for these lights to remain on all night. I could see by looking down the lift shaft that none of the landings were lit. There was a faint light in the hall, but all the landings were dark. This meant that the lights had been turned out by someone for reasons best known to himself. I went down to the turn of the stair, and as I stood there listening I distinctly heard someone move. I heard a door shut, and I heard someone move. And then, just as my eyes were getting accustomed to the darkness, the door of poor Mary Craddock’s flat was opened and the light went on in her hall, and there was that girl Mavis Grey coming in from the landing with her dress clutched up in her hand where it was torn, and there was Peter Renshaw in the hall. And they shut the door and I didn’t see anything more.”

The Inspector jerked forward.

“Miss Grey was going into the flat? You’re sure of that?”

“I am quite sure, Inspector.”

“And Mr. Renshaw-was he going in too?”

Miss Bingham hesitated.

“I don’t know. He might have been. He was in the hall.”

Detective Abbott spoke for the first time. He said in an undertone,

“If they had both been out of the flat, he wouldn’t pass her and go in first-I beg your pardon, sir.”

The Inspector nodded.

“No-that’s right. Miss Bingham, you say Miss Grey’s dress was torn. Was it torn when you saw her at one o’clock?”

Miss Bingham primmed her mouth.

“It was disgracefully torn-I noticed it at once-she was quite dishevelled.”

“The first time?”

“Oh, yes-at one o’clock. I noticed it at once.”

The Inspector got thankfully to his feet.

“Thank you, Miss Bingham, that will do.”