He received an indulgent smile.

“Then, my dear Frank, I must make other arrangements.”

“And just what do you mean by that?”

She reached for her knitting-bag and loosened some strands of the pale pink wool. Her smile persisted, and so did her silence.

Frank Abbott said with an edge on his voice,

“You cannot intend to carry out this impracticable scheme by yourself!”

Miss Silver coughed.

“I should naturally prefer not to be obliged to do so.”

“Miss Silver!”

“Yes, Frank?”

“You are the most obstinate woman that ever breathed!”

“Men always say that, I believe, when they cannot succeed in inducing a woman to change her mind.”

He looked at her in an exasperated manner.

“What do you intend to do?”

“I shall carry out the plan of which I gave you an outline just now.”

“Alone?”

“If you leave me under that necessity.”

“You know very well I can’t allow any such thing!”

“Well, what will you do, my dear Frank? You cannot very well arrest me, and I assure you that unless I am put under physical restraint I do most certainly intend to carry out my plan. It is simple, and I believe that it will prove effective. If nothing comes of it, you are in no worse a position than you are at present.”

His tone changed.

“You really believe that something will come of it?”

“I think there is a reasonable chance. The ground has been carefully prepared. I shall be much surprised if by this evening there is anyone in Greenings who is not aware of Annie’s distressing state of mind and the morbid attraction which the splash seems to exert upon her.”

“And you expect that to produce results?”

“I think so. You must consider the murderer’s frame of mind. Two people have already been killed because of something they knew. Annie has made it patent to everyone that she knows more than she has told. I made three useful contacts this morning. Then the old cook here is an intimate friend of the housekeeper at the Hall-they see each other nearly every day. I think we may conclude that Annie’s behaviour would not go unmentioned.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.

“I should say that would be an understatement.”

She inclined her head.

“Look here,” he said-“as man to man, or words to that effect, just how sure are you about all this?”

She laid her knitting down upon her lap and looked at him very seriously indeed.

“I cannot tell you that I am sure, because I do not think that this is a case in which anyone could be sure. When I mentioned a name to Annie she burst into hysterical tears and repeatedly denied that she had ever said anything at all. She would not even admit that she believed her husband to have been murdered. She was, in fact, in a state of panic, and very much afraid that she had already said too much for her own safety. Do you really believe that a murderer who has killed twice will wait for this fear to subside and take the risk of what Annie may be persuaded to disclose?”

He frowned.

“I suppose not. But if you are going to talk about risks-an attack upon Annie wouldn’t be exactly safe.”

“Was there no risk in the case of William Jackson and of Clarice Dean? Yet it was taken. And each success will have heightened the murderer’s sense of immunity. The criminal becomes persuaded of his own power to override the law and evade it. In the end he arrives at a stage where he believes that he can do anything.”

He nodded.

“You are right of course-you always are.”

She shook her head.

“That is a dangerous attitude of mind, Frank, and one which would greatly shock Chief Inspector Lamb.”

He threw up a hand in protest.

“If this plan of yours comes off, I shall get his longest homily about Wind in the Head, its Deleterious Effect on the Morale of the Junior Police Officer. And if it doesn’t come off-” He paused, gave her a really brilliant smile, and continued, “he won’t be told anything about it. And, as you were doubtless about to remark, what the eye doesn’t see the heart doesn’t grieve over.”

The Friday evening work-party was in full swing.

“Such a pity neither Miss Susan nor Mrs. Random could get away, but there are a good few of us here all the same. And of course though it’s only a step, anyone might have their reasons for not wanting to go along the dark piece between the village and the south lodge. Only you’d think Mr. Edward might have stepped over to see the ladies safe home-unless maybe he’s working late with Mr. Barr again.”

Mrs. Deacon shook her head. By virtue of Doris ’ position at the Hall and her own with the Miss Blakes she always knew rather more than anyone else. On this occasion she knew more than Mrs. Alexander.

“Mr. Edward hasn’t been over to Mr. Barr’s today. If he had, Miss Ora would have seen him go by. I go in evenings now to help her to bed, and she told me particular he hadn’t been by. I could have told her he’d been up at the Hall getting on for three quarters of an hour just before lunch, but it wasn’t my business-” She paused to bite off a thread, and added with emphasis, “nor hers.”

Mrs. Alexander nodded assent. She considered this amazing news in silence. Everybody in Greenings was aware that Mr. Edward hadn’t set foot in the Hall since he came home, and that he and Mr. Arnold didn’t meet, nor wouldn’t speak if they did.

She and Mrs. Deacon were both working on warm woollen frocks for Displaced Children. Hers was blue, and Mrs Deacon’s was green. She took time to reflect that her sewing always had been better than Ada Deacon’s before she said,

“Mr. Edward was up at the Hall?”

Mrs. Deacon restrained her legitimate pride.

“ Doris saw him-from the big landing window. Coming out of the drive, and across the sweep, and in at the front door. She could hear it shut after him, so she ran to look over the banisters, and there he was, going through to the study just as if he hadn’t been gone a day.”

Miss Sims was putting the sleeves into a rather dull brown dress. Good warm stuff, but not what you would choose for a child. Manufacturer’s remnants, that was what these pieces were, Mrs. Ball having some kind of a relation in the trade. She began to brood upon the fact that everyone else seemed to have a prettier colour, but was able to rouse herself at the mention of Annie Jackson’s name. It was Mrs. Pomfret who brought it up with an enquiry as to how she was getting on. Miss Sims, very deliberately tacking the right sleeve into the left armhole, was able to tell her all about Annie.

“Right down melancholy she is, poor thing, and no wonder. She’d a sister that went wrong in the head, and I shouldn’t wonder if Annie didn’t go the same way-hanging round the splash the way she does, and going backwards and forwards to that cottage of hers. I’m sure I wouldn’t have lived there, not if I was paid.”

Old Mrs. Stone was listening with all her ears. She liked a bit of company, and she liked the Vicarage cake. She could usually manage to put a piece in her pocket as well as the slice which Mrs. Ball always cut for her to take to Betsey. Sometimes Betsey was obstinate about being left, making such remarks as, how would her mother like it if she was to come home and find her murdered in her bed, and once in a way there would be hysterics. But as a rule the slices of cake could be trusted to smooth her down. Of course she would have to get off early, before the others. She went on listening to all that was being said about Annie Jackson.

Tea and cake were brought in at half past nine, the usual pleasant anticipation being heightened by the fact that everyone was expecting to get a glimpse of Annie Jackson. But it was Mrs. Ball who had slipped out of the room and now appeared with the tray. In response to enquiries she explained that Annie was not very well, and since she began at once to pour out tea and cut slices of cake, the attention of the ladies was diverted, especially as Mrs. Deacon chose this moment to point out to Miss Sims that she was putting her sleeves in the wrong way round. The point was doggedly contested and Mrs. Deacon provoked into asserting her claim to know what she was talking about on the ground of being a mother.