Mrs. Willard sat there in a dark blue dress with the collar pinned crooked, her grey hair rumpled and her eyes fixed on the Inspector’s face with the candid gaze of a child. Her hands lay in her lap, and as she talked she fingered her wedding ring. It was impossible for anyone to look less like a murderess. She went on speaking simply and directly, with the least trace of a country accent cropping up here and there.

“He went off, and I didn’t know where he had gone. He’d never done such a thing before, and I got fancying things the way you do when anything’s happened and you’re sitting alone and thinking about it. I kept going to the door and looking out to see if he was coming back. It was stupid of me, but I didn’t think about his brother. It kept coming over me that we’d had words, and that perhaps he had gone upstairs to her.”

Frank Abbott wrote, his fair sleek hair catching the light as he bent over his notebook. Lamb said,

“Did you know that he did in fact go up to Miss Roland’s flat soon after seven o’clock?”

She nodded.

“Yes-he told me. She laughed at him and sent him away. She didn’t take him seriously, you know. He was very much hurt about it.”

“She had her sister with her-that’s why she sent him away. Well, you didn’t know all this at the time, I take it. He told you afterwards?”

“Yes-when he came back this morning.”

“Well, let’s get back to last night. You were wondering where your husband had gone-”

“Yes, I was dreadfully unhappy, and it kept on getting worse. When it came to eleven o’clock and Alfred not back, I couldn’t bear it any longer. I’d got to know whether he was up there with Miss Roland or not, so I went up.”

“Yes, Mrs. Willard?”

“I meant to ring the bell. I didn’t care whether she was in bed and asleep or not. But when I got up there I didn’t have to ring- the door was ajar.”

“What!”

She nodded.

“I didn’t think anything but that someone had shut it carelessly and it hadn’t latched. And I thought that wouldn’t be like Alfred, because he’s always so particular, but it might have been Miss Roland. And I thought here was my chance of catching them if he was there, so I pushed the door and went in.”

“Just a moment, Mrs. Willard. How did you push it-with your hand?”

She shook her head.

“No-I don’t think so. I wouldn’t if it was like that. I’d just give it a push with my shoulder.”

“All right-go on.”

“Well, the lights were on, so I thought she hadn’t gone to bed.”

“What lights?”

“Oh, the hall, and the sitting-room. The door was half open and I could see in. I stood in the hall and called, ‘Miss Roland!’ and no one answered, so I went in.”

“Did you touch the sitting-room door?”

Mrs. Willard looked faintly surprised.

“Oh, no-the door was half open. I just walked in and saw her. It was a most dreadful shock.”

“You mean that she was dead?”

The surprise was in her voice as she responded.

“Oh, yes, she was quite dead, lying there on the floor-I suppose you saw her. I didn’t touch her except to feel her pulse, and the minute I took hold of her wrist I knew that she was dead.”

“Why didn’t you give the alarm, Mrs. Willard?”

She looked worried for a moment.

“I suppose I ought to have, but-I expect it was the shock- and I didn’t know where Alfred was-”

“You thought he might have done it?”

She actually smiled.

“Oh, not really-he wouldn’t, you know. It was just the shock, and not knowing where he was. Why, he was at his brother’s by a quarter past eight. I rang up my sister-in-law and asked just now, but of course I didn’t know any of that last night.”

Lamb sat there grave and solid, a hand on either knee. The overhead light picked out his bald patch and the strong black hair growing round it. He said,

“Go on-tell us what you did.”

Mrs. Willard fingered her wedding ring.

“Well, after I’d felt her wrist I just stood there. I didn’t know what to do. It was a shock, you know, seeing her like that, and not knowing where Alfred was. I didn’t seem to be able to think properly. I’d never seen anyone murdered before-it was dreadful. It seemed as if I ought to do something, but I didn’t know what. There was that silver statue she had on the mantelpiece- a girl dancing-it was lying on the sofa all over blood. I couldn’t bear to see it like that. It had made a dreadful stain on the cover- I couldn’t bear to see it. Well, the next thing I knew I’d got it in my hand taking it into the bathroom to wash the blood off. There was some nice hot water, and I gave it a good scrubbing with the soapy nailbrush. I suppose that’s when I stained my sleeve. The blood had dried and I’d a job to shift it. Why, the basin and the taps and all were stained. I had to go over them with the brush and fresh hot water.”

“And then?”

“I put the statue back.”

“On the mantelpiece?”

“Oh, no-on the sofa.”

“Why did you do that?”

A slightly bewildered expression came over her face.

“I don’t know-I found it there. Does it matter?”

He shook his head.

“I just wanted to know-that’s all. Now, Mrs. Willard-the whole time you were in the flat, did you handle anything except Miss Roland’s wrist, and the statuette?”

“There were the taps, and the soap and nailbrush-”

“They would be too wet to take fingerprints, or if there were any on the taps you scrubbed them off. What about the bathroom door?”

“It was open-I didn’t have to touch it.”

“And the light?”

“I had to turn it on, but I found I’d left a smear there, so I took it off with the brush.”

“Did you happen to notice Miss Roland’s rings whilst you were in the bathroom?”

“Oh, yes-they were lying by the side of the washbasin. I didn’t touch them.”

CHAPTER 43

They came out of the flat and stood for a moment on the landing. Lamb said,

“There’s another queer start.”

“Think she was speaking the truth?”

“If she wasn’t she’s the best hand at a tale I’ve ever struck. It all fits in, you see. The statuette-well, the way she told about that, it all seems natural enough. And there being none of her fingerprints in the flat-well, that all fits in too. There’s always a place where a patched-up story comes away from the cloth, but this story of hers doesn’t. She’s either a very clever woman or else she’s telling the truth-and she don’t look clever to me.” Then, with an abrupt change of voice, “Where’s Miss Silver?”

“In the Underwoods’ flat, I suppose. That’s where she told me she’d be.”

Lamb gave a sort of grunt.

“Well, go and get her! I’m going to take her along. If this Garside woman hasn’t been eating anything for the best part of a week, as likely as not she’ll be fainting on our hands-I’d like to have a woman there. Go and get Miss Silver-just say I want to see her. And look out for the door being shut after she comes out. That’s the worst of flats-everybody looks into everybody else’s front door. Cut along and get her!”

They stood at Miss Garside’s door and rang the bell. Frank Abbott could hear the faint buzzing sound of it. He thought the kitchen door must be open. At the third or fourth repetition the sound began to remind him of a fly buzzing on the window pane of a deserted room. Something in Maudie’s favourite Lord Tennyson… “The blue fly sung in the pane”… Mariana in the moated grange-“ ‘He cometh not,’ she said.”

Lamb put his thumb on the bell and kept it there. The buzzing was continuous. Nobody came.

The Inspector’s hand dropped. He said over his shoulder,

“Go and get Bell! He’s got a key-tell him to bring it along! And just see where he gets it from. I never heard of such a thing as letting them hang on the dresser! I told him he was to keep them locked up. Just you see if he’s done it!”