“Miss Jones, what did he look like?” Minnie stopped to think. Then she said in a hesitating voice,

“Well, I don’t know. He was pretty much like anyone else, if you know what I mean. He’d a drab coat on and one of those soft hats, and-well, he was pretty much like anyone else.”

“But Mr. Pegler recognized him?”

“Oh, yes he did. He’s got a wonderful eye for a face-never forgets one, he says. Now, if it had been the other gentleman, I don’t say I wouldn’t have remembered him myself, but Mr. Pegler’s one-” she shook her head-“I don’t suppose I’d know him if I saw him again this minute.”

Miss Silver was not interested in the other gentleman. She said,

“Was Mr. Pegler going to tell the police that he had seen this gentleman again?”

“Oh, no, he wouldn’t do that. It was just the lip-reading they were interested in, not anything else.”

Miss Silver let that pass. It would be for the police to pick up this thread, and they could be safely left to do so. Changing the subject, she imparted her immediate plans to Miss Jones.

“If you would rather not come back to the house-”

Minnie became alarmingly pale.

“Oh, no-I couldn’t do that-”

“Then will you just sit here quietly whilst I go and fetch someone who will drive you to the station. I will accompany you and see you off, and I will ring up Mr. Pegler and ask him to meet you. Do you feel quite able for that?”

Minnie Jones said, “Oh, yes,” and then, “How kind you are.”

Chapter 19

WHEN Miss Silver had left her to go up to the house Minnie Jones did what she could to tidy herself. She regretted the piece of looking-glass which had once had a place in her bag, but which had met the fate which waits on pocket-mirrors quite a number of years ago. A vague impression that it was unlucky to break a looking-glass had always prevented her from replacing anything so likely to get broken again, but she had a comb in her bag, and she could make sure that her hair was neat without looking at it. She dusted her hat with her handkerchief and put it on again. The ground was not damp enough to have stained her coat, for which she was grateful. There were some specks of what looked like bark and a withered leaf or two adhering to the black stuff. When she had brushed them off she considered that she had done as much as she could.

She felt weak, but not ill. Miss Silver had been so very kind, and she was going to be driven to the station. She would not have to go back to the house, and she would not have to see Moira Herne again. She wouldn’t have to see her, and she must try-oh, yes, she must try very hard not to think about her.

The trouble about that kind of resolution is that it is apt to defeat its own ends. If you have to make a strong effort not to think about someone, it means that they are there, stuck fast in your mind like a thorn that has run in so far that you can’t see it. You only know that it is there because it hurts.

Minnie had got to her feet. She moved now, taking the small path which led back to the drive.

She did not have to wait very long. Miss Silver had been fortunate in finding Annabel Scott alone. A very few words were enough to explain the predicament and enlist her help. Annabel ran up to her room for a coat, and coming back with the least possible delay, suggested that they should walk round to the garage together and avoid comment by starting from there. As the car turned into the drive she laughed and said,

“We shan’t have very much time to make ourselves beautiful for dinner! Lucius always pretends that he despises make-up, so he ought to be pleased. Actually, he likes it all right if it’s done well. The art of concealing that there’s any art to conceal!”

They picked up Minnie Jones and ran out along Cranberry Lane on to the high road. Minnie, on the back seat with Miss Silver, found herself definitely assuaged. Mrs. Scott was being ever so kind. She had pressed her hand and said, “We were all so sorry about Arthur,” and it was said the way you say things when you really mean them. Miss Silver slipped a hand inside her arm and said she thought there would be time for her to have a cup of tea and something to eat at the station. A cup of tea would be lovely. Everyone was being so kind.

It was when they were coming down the incline to the station yard that something happened. Miss Silver said, “Here we are,” and Minnie leaned forward to look out of the window. The down train had just come in, and passengers who had arrived by it were emerging. Minnie would not have expected to know any of them, but a good deal to her surprise she was aware of a face that she had seen before. She said, “Oh!” and when Miss Silver asked her whether there was anything the matter something seemed to push the words right out of her mouth. She didn’t know why, but that was the way it seemed. She said,

“That gentleman coming out now-that’s the one that was with the gentleman Mr. Pegler recognized.”

Annabel was backing into a parking-place. Minnie Jones continued to point. The man who had come out of the station continued to walk up the incline. Miss Silver said firmly,

“Do you mean that this is the gentleman who talked with Mr. Pegler in the gallery?”

Minnie didn’t mean anything of the sort. She hastened to make it perfectly clear that she didn’t.

“Oh, no, this was the other one we saw last night in the Emden Road. I said I’d know him again-you remember I did.”

Annabel, taking her hands from the wheel, looked where they were looking.

“Someone you know?” she said, “What-not that man!”

Minnie nodded.

“Oh, yes, that’s him. I said I’d know him.”

Annabel began to say something and stopped. Miss Silver touched her on the shoulder.

“Mrs. Scott, do you know who it is?”

The answer had a laughing inflection.

“Rather better than I want to.”

Miss Silver spoke low and insistently.

“Who is it?”

And Annabel Scott said,

“It’s Arnold Bray.”

Chapter 20

SALLY FOSTER was engaged in wondering why she had been such a blithering fool as to come down to Merefields. If she hadn’t been very nicely brought up she would have used a worse word. Early association with a great-aunt whom she had really loved with all her heart was still a handicap when it came to availing herself of a free modern idiom. Well, here she was at Merefields-here they all were, Wilfrid, David, Moira, and herself, with Clay Masterson breezing in when he felt like it. Like Wilfrid and David, he had no time for anyone but Moira. Nobody had time for Sally Foster, nobody wanted her. Nobody would have turned their head or taken the slightest notice if she had dropped down dead at their feet or just melted into the surrounding air.

The question as to why she had been asked had resolved itself when Lucius Bellingdon displayed a passionate interest in her last interview with Paulina Paine. He wanted to know all about it, and she really hadn’t got anything to tell him. Paulina had come in on the Monday evening just as she and David were going out, and she had stopped them and talked to David about his cousins the Charles Morays. She asked David for their telephone number, and they had gone up to Sally’s room, all three of them, and David had put through the call. What Paulina wanted was Miss Maud Silver’s address, and David had taken it down for her. And that was simply and absolutely All.

After Lucius had done a bit of cross-examination and had become convinced that it really was all, he had only too obviously lost interest and gone back to concentrating upon Annabel Scott, with occasional time off for interviews with Miss Silver and, or, the police.

Naturally, by this time there wasn’t much about Miss Silver’s position that Sally didn’t know. What she had not been able to guess for herself she had wormed out of David Moray. And it had got her exactly nowhere at all. The week-end was still a total loss. Sally gritted her teeth and meditated getting someone to send her a telegram, or to ring her up and say she was urgently wanted in town. She had got as far as sitting down to write to Jessica Meredith, when she remembered that Jessica was being bridesmaid at a cousin’s wedding in Wales. On this she decided that she had better dress for dinner. A glance in the mirror brought it home to her that she must do what she could about her face. Sometimes the harder you tried the less effect it seemed to have. Of course nobody could pretend that yellow walnut made a becoming frame for a looking-glass. All the furniture in this room was constructed of yellow walnut, and the walls were covered with a yellow paper which had bunches of daffodils on it. It was a north room, and in theory all this yellow was supposed to make it look as if it faced south. In practice, Sally decided that all it did was to make her look yellow too. The really awful thing was that she had brought a new dress down with her and the very minute she put it on she knew that it wasn’t going to do. Not here, not now. Because it was almost exactly like the wallpaper, only the yellow bunches on an ivory ground were primroses instead of daffodils. She had loved it in the shop, and she had loved it when she put it on at home. It had thrown up the chestnut in her hair and made her eyes look warm, it had flattered her skin. It didn’t do any of these things now.