Frank Abbott displayed a lively interest.

“And how do you arrive at that?”

Miss Silver regarded him with an indulgent eye. He was of about the same age as her nephew Howard, at present somewhere in the Middle East. Howard was of course a great deal better looking.

“Mrs. Smollett has given me a very good idea of Miss Garside’s character. Like so many single women who live alone, she is neat and orderly in the highest degree. Mrs. Smollett is not, I think, a very neat person herself. She complains of Miss Garside being so particular about everything being put back in exactly the right place, contrasting her unfavourably with Mrs. Willard who, she says, will have everything clean but doesn’t care where it goes.”

Frank Abbott gave a low whistle.

“So that’s it!”

Miss Silver coughed.

“I feel sure that anyone so particular as Miss Garside is said to be would have replaced the statuette upon the mantelpiece after washing it.”

“But Mrs. Willard doesn’t care where anything goes, though she likes things clean?”

Miss Silver’s needles clicked.

“According to Mrs. Smollett,” she said.

Frank Abbott lay back in his chair and looked at her, a spark of malice in his light blue eyes.

“May I ask when you received these interesting confidences?”

He got a smile which he had done nothing to deserve.

“When I was helping her with the washing-up after lunch at Mrs. Underwood’s.”

He smiled back at her.

“That’s where you take the bread out of the poor policeman’s mouth. I can’t very well drop in and help with the washing-up. Did she tell you anything else?”

“Yes, a great deal, but not all of it pertinent. I must tell you that Miss Garside is believed to be in great financial straits. She has been doing without any household help for some time. She has sold her furniture, and Mrs. Smollett declares that she had bought no food for a week until this morning, when she came back with a full shopping-basket.”

“So that’s why she was having breakfast after she came back from the town. Curtis found her out the first time he went, and when he did get her she was just going to have breakfast. He thought it odd at the time. I wonder if she had been selling the ring. The Chief’s going to see her when he gets back. He’s gone off to interview the man Carola Roland was going to marry- thought he’d like to get that cleared up straight away. If those were his fingerprints on the tumbler, and he was having drinks with the girl within an hour of the murder, he was probably the last person to see her alive-or the last but one if someone else killed her. If the Chief counts him out he’ll go for Miss Garside. Unless anything else turns up. Have you really got anything about Mrs. Willard, or was that just a red herring?”

Miss Silver put a shade of reproof into her cough.

“It would be in Mrs. Willard’s character as described by Mrs. Smollett to wash the statuette and then leave it lying about. Mrs. Smollett had been in the Willards’ flat this morning. It was her regular day. Mr. Willard admitted her, and told her she could not go into the bedroom as Mrs. Willard was asleep. He appeared a good deal distressed, and when she spoke of Miss Roland’s death he said, ‘Don’t talk of it!’ and went out of the flat. She found the dress which Mrs. Willard was wearing yesterday in a wet heap inside the bathroom cupboard. She said, ‘It was a new dress and quite clean-why did she want to wash it?’ She also said Mr. Willard was running after Miss Roland. She is of course a gossip, and will make the most of any material she has picked up.”

Frank Abbott whistled again.

“How many more people may have killed the girl, do you suppose? At the moment we have Armitage, Mrs. Underwood, an opulent City gent, Miss Garside, and Mrs. Willard. Embarras de richesse. I suppose they didn’t all have a stab at it?”

“I’m not suggesting that any of them killed her, Mr. Abbott. I think that both Miss Garside and Mrs. Willard should be questioned, and that this dress, which seems to have been somewhat unaccountably washed, should be examined for bloodstains. If the washing were not extremely thorough, there might be some traces left. Also, I think, it would be as well to look into the antecedents of all the tenants of these flats. The Lemmings and Miss Garside have been here some time. The Willards have been here for two years. So has Mr. Drake, but nothing seems to be known about him. He is considered to be something of a mystery. The Spooners are recent tenants, but they are away. Other recent tenants are Mrs. Underwood and the old lady on the ground floor, Mrs. Meredith. As regards Mrs. Underwood, I met her at the house of friends of my own who are well acquainted with her and her husband, Wing Commander Underwood. As regards Major Armitage, the War Office can be referred to, and I would suggest an enquiry as to Mrs. Meredith’s previous address and the length of time she has had her staff. I imagine that the Chief Inspector will have all this in hand. He is extremely thorough.”

“In fact,” said Frank Abbott in his most casual voice, “we can’t at the moment see the wood for the trees. And I’d very much like to know what sort of wood you think it is. Not officially of course, but just between outselves-unter vier Augen, as the Hun has it. Very illustrative idiom, don’t you think-under four eyes. Suggests two patient professors at the microscope being distressingly thorough about a new germ. But to get back to the point. You called me Mr. Abbott just now. Well, I’m not-I’m Sergeant Abbott. But if you could go on forgetting that for a bit, I should be interested to know what you do think about that wood-as between two private individuals gossiping over a gas fire.”

Miss Silver primmed her mouth, but her eyes were kind. This was undoubtedly an impudent young man, but like most elderly spinsters she had a soft corner for the impudent and young. After a short pause she said,

“Well, Mr. Abbott, there is the gas fire. As for the gossip, I am not so sure. I have, perhaps, already repeated more to you than I should have done. In order to arrive at a just conclusion we need the whole of the evidence. It is made up of an indefinite number of words and actions which act and react upon each other, combining, separating, and joining up again. Gossip picks out some of these words and actions, focusses a strong light on them, and puts them under the microscope, with the result that the balance is destroyed and a distorted picture obtained. This is undoubtedly what Lord Tennyson had in mind when he wrote that ‘A lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, But a lie which is part of truth is a harder matter to fight.’” She turned the Air Force sock and gazed mildly across it.

Frank Abbott smiled. If there was a faint flavour of satire in his appreciation, it was nevertheless perfectly sincere. He said,

“You know, you haven’t answered my question. I suppose you didn’t mean to, or perhaps it just slipped out of your mind.

I did say that we couldn’t see the wood for the trees, and I did ask you what sort of wood you thought it was. In other words, is there anything behind all this, and if so, what? Is this just a casual murder which happened because someone was jealous or didn’t keep his temper, or is there something behind it- something that makes the murder just a symptom?”

Miss Silver looked up.

“Do you feel that, Mr. Abbott?”

He met the look, his light eyes narrowed and intent.

“I think I do.”

She nodded gravely.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me what you think it is?”

She nodded again.

“I think it is blackmail, Mr. Abbott.”