“She did see someone?”

“She did. When she informed me of the fact, which was not until this afternoon, my opinion-I may say my very strongly expressed opinion-was that the police should be informed immediately.”

“I don’t want to get anyone into trouble,” said Mrs. Willard in a stifled voice.

The Chief Inspector addressed her in an admonitory tone.

“Now, Mrs. Willard, you must understand that this is a very serious matter. You won’t get any innocent person into trouble, you know. You don’t want to shield a guilty one-do you?”

“I don’t want to get anyone into trouble.”

“Mrs. Willard-who did you see?”

It was at this point that Mr. Drake got quietly to his feet and said pleasantly,

“She saw me, Inspector.”

A faint whisper of sound stirred in the room. It was as if everyone had moved a little-as if each had breathed more deeply.

Lamb said, “You came up here to No. 8?”

“I did.”

“What time was this?”

“Half past nine.”

“Why did you come?”

“To see Miss Roland.”

His eyes went past the Inspector to Agnes Lemming. She was pale, but she looked back at him.

Lamb went on.

“Did you see her?”

“No-I didn’t get in. I rang, and there was no answer, so I came away.”

“Was the door shut or open?”

The eyebrows which gave Mr. Drake his resemblance to Mephistopheles rose in an even sharper arch. After a momentary pause he replied,

“The door was ajar.”

“Did you go in?”

“Oh, no.”

“It didn’t occur to you that there might be something wrong?”

“Frankly, it didn’t. I thought she was expecting a visitor. I was afraid that I might be de trop.”

Lamb looked at him hard. Everyone in the room looked at him. Frank Abbott thought, “Here’s a red herring with a vengeance! We put Maudie up to waste time whilst Curtis and the boys get busy downstairs, and she fishes this up. Well, well- on with the play!”

Lamb said in his weightiest voice,

“May I ask what was the purpose of your visit, Mr. Drake?”

To which Mr. Drake replied,

“Oh, just a little matter of business. She was blackmailing me.”

“She was blackmailing you?”

Mr. Drake smiled.

“Oh, not very seriously. You see, she had discovered my guilty secret. She didn’t like me very much, and she thought it would embarrass me if she let it out. My visit was for the purpose of telling her that it was a matter of supreme indifference to me.”

Abbott thought, “The Chief will spin this out. It’s a good red herring. I like this chap. I wonder what he’s playing at. He’s got some game of his own. The Chief’s playing up to him.”

Lamb said directly.

“Well, Mr. Drake, if that’s true, you’d better tell us what this guilty secret was.”

Mr. Drake looked past him down the room.

“Oh, certainly. I’m a pork butcher.”

There was an electric silence. Mrs. Willard stared. Mr. Willard stared. Mrs. Lemming looked disgusted. Miss Crane began to laugh in a silly giggling way, with little gasps for breath and little dabbings with a large white handkerchief. Agnes Lemming got up, walked down the room, and slipped her hand inside Mr. Drake’s arm. Mrs. Lemming said sharply,

“Agnes, have you gone mad?”

But Agnes stood there smiling. She looked radiant. She turned with that smiling gaze to the room and said in a simple, happy voice,

“We were married this morning. Please, everyone, wish us joy.”

CHAPTER 48

Mrs. Lemming’s handsome features stiffened and set, her fine skin blanched. She turned the cold fury of her look upon the daughter whom she had bullied for so long. Never before had that look failed of its effect. It is to be doubted whether Agnes even noticed it now. She stood with her hand on her husband’s arm, looking proudly and happily at her friends and awaiting their good wishes. But before anyone could move or speak there was a knock upon the door. Sergeant Abbott stood away and opened it, disclosing Sergeant Curtis, neat and brisk. He came in just over the threshold and addressed himself to the Chief Inspector.

“ Anderson is below, sir.”

Lamb turned a preoccupied face.

“All right-tell him to wait.”

Curtis retreated. Frank Abbott shut the door. Pity Curtis couldn’t be this side of it-he was going to miss the show. Or was he? So Maudie had done the trick. Astonishing woman. He took off his hat to her, metaphorically speaking. And to the Chief. Nothing small about him. He could take Maudie in his stride. To look at him sitting there, imperturbable and solid, no one could have guessed that Curtis’ message was anything but the dullest routine stuff. Only three people in the room knew what it meant. The things had been found where Maudie had said they would be found. So now what?

Lamb was speaking in his steady, ponderous way.

“Well, we seem to have got a little off the rails. We’d better get back. Was there something more you wished to say, Miss Silver?”

Miss Silver coughed. She sat primly upright with no trace of triumph about her, a dowdy old governess with an old-fashioned decorum of manner.

“I should just like to complete my time-table,” she said. “I think I can do so now. We will return to the moment when Miss Roland’s friend went down in the lift, leaving her on the landing. This was at 8:30. At 8:35 or thereabouts Miss Garside let herself in with the spare key of No. 8, which she had obtained from the basement. She had reason to believe that Miss Roland had gone out for the evening. She had, in fact, seen her go down in the lift with her sister, Mrs. Jackson, at twenty minutes past seven, and she did not know that Miss Roland had gone no farther than the corner of the road, and that she was back in her flat again by half past seven. Miss Garside remained in the flat for about a quarter of an hour, and during that quarter of an hour Miss Roland was murdered. I am going to tell you why she was murdered, and who murdered her. Carola Roland came to this house for a purpose. She was being blackmailed, and she was determined to discover her blackmailer, and to turn the tables. Mrs. Jackson will tell you that her sister believed the person who was blackmailing her to be resident in one of these flats. She did not disclose this person’s identity, but she was determined not only to free herself but to punish the blackmailer. With this end in view she secured a post in one of the flats for a girl with whom she had been friendly in the past, and who was peculiarly qualified to assist her. I refer to Mrs. Underwood’s maid, Ivy Lord. This girl had been an acrobat, she was devoted to Carola Roland, and she had a useful reputation for walking in her sleep. At Miss Roland’s instigation Ivy got out of her window at night and pursued certain investigations.”

Abbott looked round at all the faces and found them looking at Miss Silver-flushed, pale, eager, nervous, distressed. There was a general air of expectancy about them. Even Mr. Willard’s superiority and Mrs. Lemming’s hauteur were tinged with it.

Miss Crane said, “Dear, dear-how unpleasant!”

Miss Silver continued in her quiet, carrying voice.

“One day Ivy brought Miss Roland a letter which gave her the evidence she required. It was the answer from one of the blackmailer’s victims to a demand for money. With Ivy’s testimony as to where it had been found, it afforded conclusive proof of the blackmailer’s identity. But Carola Roland had no idea of prosecuting. She thought she could make a good bargain for herself and get the upper hand. She communicated with the blackmailer, and a meeting was arranged for Wednesday evening at approximately 8:45. It will be remembered that Miss Garside was still somewhere in the flat at this time-probably in the bathroom, as a ring belonging to her was subsequently found there. She did not wish to be seen, and was waiting for a chance to get away unobserved. Miss Roland, awaiting her visitor in some excitement, probably had the sitting-room door ajar, if not wide open. She might have walked to and fro between the sitting-room and the hall. She might have been expecting that the bell would ring. Or she might have known that her visitor would come by another way.”