She said, “Ages.” And then, in exactly the same voice, “Oh, by the way, the North Lodge is a wash-out as far as my sittings go. We’ll have them up here at the house. There’s quite a good sort of attic place-”

Elaine raised a protesting voice.

“Oh, Moira, no-not the attic!”

“And why not?”

“My dear, it’s so dusty-and things spread about all over the floor!”

Moira dismissed the topic with a casual “It’ll do.” She turned to David, who had gone back to his seat on the other side of the table. “Did you get your stuff all right?”

It was a curious little passage. Sally wondered about it. First Moira had been all over the idea of having the sittings at the North Lodge, and now she was calling them off. And she was calling them off because the man whom she met at the lodge had told her to call them off. As to his reason, it could be one of two, or it could be both of them together. He might want to keep the North Lodge for his own private meetings with Moira, or he might be cutting up rough at the idea of her meeting anyone else there. Whichever it was, Moira could hardly have appeared more indifferent than she did.

Lucius and Annabel were very late. To all enquiries he merely said that they had dined, and that they had had to leave the car in Emberley and hire one to come home. But to Miss Silver in the study he was more communicative. A touch on her arm indicated that he wished to see her there, and after a discreet interval she had followed him.

She found him with his back to her, looking out of the window. At the sound of the closing door he turned and came towards her. Her attention was at once engaged by the way he looked. There was a hardness and severity which exceeded anything which she had seen in him. The effect was formidable indeed. Without any preliminaries he said,

“The car was tampered with.”

Miss Silver gave no indication of surprise. She said in a very composed manner,

“Let us sit down, Mr. Bellingdon.”

It was like having tepid water splashed in his face. The check affronted him, but he was sufficiently master of himself to set a chair for her and to take one himself. When she was seated she looked at him thoughtfully and said,

“You have reason to believe that the mishap to your car was not accidental?”

“I know it wasn’t. There is a steep hill just out of Emberley. A wheel came off there. Fortunately, we had almost reached the bottom. If it had happened a little sooner, we should probably have both been killed. The hill takes two bad corners, and there is a sheer drop into a quarry. If we hadn’t been past the danger points we should have had it. As it was, we crashed into a bank and pretty well wrecked the car.”

“Mr. Bellingdon, are you sure that the wheel had been tampered with?”

He said, “Perfectly-if you mean am I sure in my own mind. I couldn’t prove it.”

“How would it have been done?”

“Anyone with a spanner could loosen the nuts. I suppose you’ve seen a wheel changed -well, it’s as easy as that. Anyone who wanted me to have an accident could have done it. Parker could have done it.” He gave a short laugh. “He has driven for me and looked after my car for fifteen years, but he could have had a sudden urge to kill me. It would have to be a particularly strong one, because whatever he feels about me, I should have said he worshipped the car, and it was bound to be pretty badly damaged. There’s negligence of course, but I’ve never known him negligent yet. And there’s no chance of its having happened in a strange garage, because we haven’t been near one, and if we had, Parker has a deep-rooted distrust of mechanics and he’d have checked everything over.”

Though much of this was Greek to Miss Silver, she continued to look intelligent. After a brief pause Lucius Bellingdon said harshly,

“Well, where do we go from there? Anyone could have done it, but I don’t believe it was Parker. There’s no way of proving anything, but I think someone has made an attempt upon my life-” He paused, and added on a harder note, “and Annabel’s.”

“You have indeed had a providential escape.”

He got up, drove his hands into his pockets, and went over to the writing-table. After standing there for a moment he turned and said,

“It doesn’t seem to surprise you that there has been an attempt on my life?”

“No, Mr. Bellingdon.”

“Why?”

She regarded him with composure.

“I have feared that such an attempt might be made.”

His “Why?” was repeated as sharply as before.

“Because I have not been able to feel any assurance that one such attempt has not already been made.”

“What do you mean?”

“Has it never occurred to you that the person who induced Mr. Garratt’s fit of asthma may quite reasonably have supposed that, your secretary being incapacitated, you would fetch the necklace yourself?”

He bent a hard frowning gaze upon her.

“It was Arthur Hughes who was shot.”

“I have never been able to believe that his death was intended.”

“Then why shoot him?”

“The necklace was in any case a tempting prize, and the person who took it could not risk being recognized. But I have always thought it possible that the theft of the necklace was originally intended to cover a darker and more ambitious crime.”

His laugh conveyed no idea of mirth.

“What’s the good of wrapping it up? You might just as well say straight out that someone wanted to kill me. I take it that is what you meant?”

“Yes, Mr. Bellingdon, that is what I meant.”

“Then don’t let us beat about the bush any longer. The theft of the necklace was a blind. I was to be murdered. Perhaps you can tell me why.”

She observed him mildly.

“Yes, the motive is of the first importance. Setting on one side those cases where a sudden impulse may produce a fatal result, and considering only those which involve premeditation, there are, generally speaking, three main motives for what the law calls wilful murder-love, hatred, and the desire for gain. I use the word love in the sense in which the murderer would doubtless use it, and not in my own understanding of it. I should, perhaps, have employed the term jealousy instead, since what is involved is what the French would call the crime passionnel.”

A momentary gleam of humour passed across his face.

“Well, I think you may count that one out. And I can’t think of anyone who hates me enough to kill me-not off-hand-” He broke off with an effect of suddenness.

After waiting to see if he would proceed she said,

“The third motive remains. You have great worldly possessions.”

There was a silence. He turned back to the table and stood there, straightening the pen-tray, lifting a stick of sealing-wax, a pencil. After a little he turned back again.

“You may just as well say what you mean.”

She said it.

“Mr. Bellingdon, who would profit by your death?”

He said without any change of expression.

“To a limited extent quite a number of people.” Then, as if the sound of his own voice had touched something off, look and manner betrayed a mounting intensity of feeling. “What are you suggesting? You’ll have to come out with it. I’ve never had any patience with hints, and you’ve gone too far to draw back. If you suspect anyone, you must come out with your suspicions. If you have an accusation to make, you must make it.”

Miss Silver maintained her quiet manner.

“Mr. Bellingdon, I have asked you who would profit by your death. You have not answered my question. You have asked me to be plain with you, and I am prepared to do as you ask. If, as I suppose, Mrs. Herne would benefit very largely under your will, I think you may have to consider whether she may not be the object of some design-”

He broke in as if he could no longer control himself.

“What do you mean by some design? You wrap everything up! Are you accusing Moira of trying to kill me?”