“She was beginning to get rattled. And here, in number three… Oh Lord, I think-yes, I’m sure she must have been to her solicitor. Listen to this!

‘Dear Mr. Craddock,

I much regret that any remarks of mine should have been reported to you as reflecting upon your character, or on that of any other member of a family with which I have been on terms of close friendship for years. Since you desire me to say so in writing, I acknowledge that I was misinformed. I regret the words attributed to me-you do not tell me who your informant was-and I hereby tender you a sincere apology for anything I may have said. I hope that you will be satisfied with this, and that you will now relinquish any idea of taking legal proceedings.

Yours truly,

Wilhelmina Bingham.’ ”

“I wonder what she said,” said Lee.

Peter laughed.

“I think one can guess. I begin to have some respect for Ross. Well, I’m afraid I don’t think she would have gone the length of shooting him to get these letters back.”

Lee said “No-” in a doubtful voice, then turned on him with sudden passion.

“Peter, it’s horrible! We’re all suspecting each other-we’re ready to suspect anyone! A thing like this puts the clock back about a million years, and we’re all in the jungle again with everyone’s hand against everyone else. I should be glad if it were Miss Bingham, and so would you. Doesn’t it show what this has done to us already? She’s never done us any harm.”

“Speak for yourself, darling,” said Peter coolly. “Personally, I consider her a menace-Wilhelmina the Unwanted.”

Lee steadied herself, gulped, and said,

“Sorry, Peter. I didn’t mean to do that. What are you going to do with the letters-tear them up or give them back to her?”

Peter grinned.

“Which do you think she’d like least? She must be wondering about them, you know. I might ring her up and say, ‘Fly! All is discovered.’ Or I might write a polite little note beginning, ‘Dear Miss Bingham-’ ”

Lee grabbed his arm and pinched it severely. With her left hand she pointed at the door. It was opening slowly. Round the edge of it appeared Miss Bingham’s fuzzy fringe, her marked dark eyebrows, her firm red cheeks, and her jutting upper lip. The sharp eyes darted their inquisitive glances at Lee with her hand on Peter’s arm, at Peter and the open despatch-case with its tumbled papers. She showed all her teeth in an ingratiating smile and said brightly,

“The outer door was ajar, and, do you know, I thought I heard my name. I hope I don’t intrude.”

Lee pinched again, because she was so dreadfully afraid that Peter was going to say “You do.” She said hurriedly,

“Oh, no, of course-we were just sorting some papers.”

“Oh, yes-naturally. So nice of you to help, Mr. Renshaw. But don’t you find it very trying-a great strain? The very room in which such a shocking crime took place. But perhaps you are not psychic. All the Binghams are intensely psychic. My grandmother, who was a Bingham of the younger branch and married her cousin-dear me, what was I saying? Oh! Why, Mr. Renshaw-are not those my letters? I-yes, surely!”

She had arrived at the table, and with the last word pounced on the three letters which were lying where Peter had thrown them down. He laughed a little and said,

“Did you come to fetch them?”

Her eyes darted maliciously at him. Her fingers began to fold and unfold the sheets of stiff, old-fashioned paper.

Peter said, “Is this the first time you have come for them, Miss Bingham?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Renshaw.”

“Sure you don’t?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” She began to tear the letters across and across, and across again, her hands moving so fast that it was done almost before they had known what she was going to do. “I am really quite at a loss”-it was the phrase she had used in one of those torn letters-“quite, quite at a loss. Mr. Craddock and I were on perfectly friendly terms until someone made mischief-and if this is a free country I cannot see why one is not entitled to one’s own opinion!” Her voice trembled with anger. Her hands trembled so much that the torn fragments she was holding fell from them and strewed the floor. “And so I told my solicitor, but he wouldn’t listen to me-a most disagreeable man. And he made me write what I consider an extremely humiliating letter, Mr. Renshaw, which is now, I am pleased to say, torn up. And I won’t disturb you any longer, Miss Fenton. You seemed to be very busy indeed when I came in. I can see when I’m not wanted, I can assure you.”

The sitting-room door banged, the outer door banged. Lee said,

“Well!”

Peter put his arm round her waist.

“I wonder whether she had been back for those letters before,” he said.

Chapter XXXII

Lucy Craddock leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “Oh, my dears, this does seem to have been a terribly long week.”

“It’s not a week yet,” said Lee wearily. “This is only Saturday, and last Saturday I was in Paris with the Mervilles.”

Incredible that the time in Paris with the Mervilles should in retrospect appear quite pleasant. She put this into words, and got a piercing glance from Peter.

“Perhaps you feel sorry you didn’t elope with your dago friend.”

“Almost, darling,” said Lee, with a momentary sparkle.

“Too dreadful!” said Lucy Craddock. “I have often thought that it would be such a comfort if some sort of an interval could be arranged-when something dreadful has happened, I mean-like they do in a play. The curtain goes down, and when it goes up again it is next week, or next month, or next year. Such a good arrangement.”

“Lucinda, you’re a genius,” said Peter. “Personally, I vote for next year, by which time Lee and I will be married and at a comforting distance of about six thousand miles from Scotland Yard. Of course, it’s not quite so much as the crow flies.”

Lee actually laughed.

“Do crows fly to India?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. But the point, my darling child, is that policemen don’t.”

The telephone bell rang from the hall. Lucy Craddock began to flutter.

“Oh, my dear boy, if it is Phoebe Challoner, I really don’t think I feel equal-she’s so very kind, but-”

“You are still utterly prostrated,” said Peter.

He departed, took up the receiver, and prepared to repel female friends in general and Miss Challoner in particular. But the voice which came to him along the wire was unmistakably male. It said in gruff, agitated accents,

“Hullo! Who’s there? I want to speak to Mr. Renshaw.”

“Speaking,” said Peter gloomily, because the voice was beyond all question that of Bobby Foster, and to ring him up and if possible drag him into being an accessory after the fact was just the sort of thing that Bobby was likely to do.

The voice became even more agitated.

“Peter, I’m in the most awful jam-”

“And you’ll be in a worse one if you start babbling on the telephone, my lad.”

“You know who’s speaking?”

Peter groaned.

“I do. What do you want?”

“I’m in the most awful jam. I lost my head-you know, when I got to the office it came over me. I didn’t think anyone would believe me. I lost my head and bolted. I haven’t got any money. That’s why I rang up. If you could let me have a tenner-and meet me-”

“Dry up!” said Peter. “I want to think.” He concentrated a horrible frown upon the instrument for about a minute and a half, and then spoke rapidly into the receiver.

“Are you there? Well now, listen! You know the church where the Beaver was married-well, go there, stand in the porch, and look out for me. I don’t know if anyone is interested in my movements-I shall have to make sure about that. If I can get my car out I will. Look out for me and nip in the moment I stop. If I’m on foot, let me get past and then follow me. Don’t speak to me until I stop and blow my nose. If you’ve got that, say yes, and don’t say anything more. Got it?… All right.” He hung up, opened the sitting-room door, and called Lee.