“This is Miss Silver, Elaine, and I expect she would like to go to her room before lunch.”

Miss Bray talked all the way up the beautiful staircase with its shallow steps and along a panelled corridor to a room which, she informed Miss Silver, was opposite to her own. It had a good view of the hyacinths and was most comfortably furnished with bright chintzes, a moss-green carpet, and what she was very pleased to see, a small electric fire. Previous experiences in the country had left her under no illusions as to the icy temperatures to which many habitual residents had apparently become enured. Her warmest clothing invariably accompanied her on a country visit, but it would be more comfortable not to require it. There was not only this convenient fire, but the sight of a radiator and the genial warmth of the temperature informed her that the house was centrally heated.

Miss Bray was assiduous in her attentions.

“The bathroom is next door. I cannot tell you how relieved I was when Lucius rang up and said that he had induced you to come down. Even in two days the letters and appeals have piled up in the most trying way. Poor Mr. Garratt is still far from well. I cannot think what can have brought on such a shocking attack. The begging letters are the worst, but Lucius does not think it right to tear them up unread. He tells me you are particularly well adapted to deal with them. It is work which I could not possibly undertake- it would upset me too much. I am afraid I am foolishly sensitive to anything sordid. The seamy side of life-it does not do for me to allow myself to come in contact with it. It haunts me. Now I’m sure you are very strong-minded!”

In her private capacity Miss Silver might have wished to unpack and to tidy herself in privacy. In her professional capacity she could welcome any flow of words however tedious. People who talk all the time are seldom discreet. She owed no small part of her successes to the fact that she was outstandingly easy to talk to. Miss Bray found her a most sympathetic listener as she discoursed upon the difficulty of staffing a house like Merefields.

“Men really have no idea! Take the butler and the cook. Because they have been here for twenty years Lucius thinks they are perfect! And of course they think so too! I am sure I daren’t say a word! And the girls from the village-of course quite untrained-one has to be after them every minute! And they don’t like it! Only the other day Mrs. Hilton told me that Gloria Stubbs was thinking of giving in her notice, and when I wanted to know why, she said it might be better if I were to leave the training of the girls to her! It just shows, doesn’t it!”

Miss Silver observed tactfully that the staffing and running of a big house must be very difficult indeed.

“And Moira is no help at all! I brought her up, you know, after my cousin died-at least she was sixteen, so I didn’t really have the training of her, and she has been married since, which of course makes a difference, don’t you think? But if I suggest her doing anything she only says that there are too many fingers in the pie already. She said that only yesterday, and I’m sure I can’t think what she meant, because if the Ball is going to be put off-you know, I suppose, that Lucius was giving a fancy dress ball at The Luxe next month? That is why he was getting the necklace out of the bank-Moira wanted to see it. And I can’t help feeling intensely thankful that it was stolen before it got here if it was going to be stolen at all. Lucius wasn’t going to keep it here of course-it’s too valuable. Moira wanted to see it, and then they were going to take it up to town and leave it at the jeweller’s to be cleaned and taken care of until the day of the Ball. Of course it is terribly shocking about poor Arthur Hughes, but when I think it might have been Lucius and Moira I really can’t be too thankful! I don’t suppose Lucius will think it necessary to put off the Ball-there were such a lot of people coming. Moira thinks it would be absurd, but young people are so apt to be callous. I often think it would be so much more comfortable not to have such sensitive feelings, but on the other hand does one really want to be insensitive?”

Miss Silver opining that there was a happy mean and introducing a quotation from Lord Tennyson in support of this, they went down to lunch together on the best of terms.

Lucius Bellingdon and three other people were waiting for them-a girl in smoky blue who was Moira Herne, someone taller and older who was Mrs. Scott, and Mr. Hubert Garratt. Introduced by Bellingdon, Miss Silver found herself regarded with as complete a lack of concern as she could have desired.

Her own interest was, however, warmly engaged. Every person in this household had some part in the problem she was here to investigate. Because one of them had talked young Arthur Hughes lay dead. The leakage could have occurred through inadvertence, heedlessness, lack of self-control. It could have been the result of fear, of some burst of confidence, or of malice aforethought, but somehow through one of these people it must have come about. She could not neglect Mr. Bellingdon’s secretary, Mr. Bellingdon’s daughter, or Mr. Bellingdon’s guest.

Moira Herne would have been remarked on anywhere for her ash-blonde colouring. As to her features, they were of the kind you really hardly notice. It was the gleaming hair with its soft full waves, the rather light eyes with a dark ring about the iris, and the fine white skin, which fixed and held the attention. The lashes and brows were slightly and artistically darkened to a golden brown. The mouth, which might have been too pale, had been deepened to a delightful rose, the pointed fingernails matched it to a shade. She allowed the eyes to rest upon Miss Silver in an indifferent stare and did not speak.

Mrs. Scott could hardly have exhibited a greater contrast in looks and manner. She was a tall, slim creature with smooth dark hair, dark eyes, a skin warm with colour, a wide mouth, and teeth as white as hazel-nuts. She might have been anything between twenty-five and forty. Her voice as she said “How do you do?” had a quality of youth which it would probably never lose. She smiled, showing the white teeth, slipped into her place by Lucius Bellingdon, and began to talk to him about this and that. She had an easy charm of manner, a trick of saying things that made them sound interesting, a way of laughing with her eyes. It took Miss Silver rather less than a minute to discern that Lucius Bellingdon’s feeling for her was something out of the ordinary.

Mr. Garratt was middle-aged and inclined to put on weight. He took the foot of the table opposite Mr. Bellingdon and sat there pale and depressed, eating little and talking less, with Moira Herne on one side of him and Miss Bray on the other. Miss Silver, between Miss Bray and her host, could hardly have been better placed. She need not talk, because Mr. Bellingdon was quite taken up with Mrs. Scott. She was therefore free to look and to listen.

The conversation might have been confined to that end of the table if it had not been for Elaine Bray. She appeared to be able to eat and talk at the same time, and was most solicitous about Mr. Garratt’s loss of appetite.

“These eggs-now you really should! They are done in onion sauce-a Portuguese recipe, I believe. The cheese in it neutralizes the onion to a very great extent. Now how do you suppose you are going to get up your strength if you do not eat?”

Mr. Garratt said, “I don’t know.” He took about a dessertspoonful from the proffered dish and left it on his plate.

Moira Herne took a large helping and said in a drawling, husky voice that she adored onions. Her way of speaking was so much at variance with the ethereal fairness of her colouring as to heighten its effect. Miss Silver found herself wondering whether this was deliberate.