‘I think not, Superintendent. She had an impulsive temperament and a fondness for scenes.’

He nodded.

‘So I am told. From what I’ve heard of her, I should say she would have burst in on them, especially if they happened to be talking about her. Well, this is where I put some more questions to Mr Geoffrey Ford.’ He got up, but before he reached the door he turned again. ‘I suppose you would say that you are representing Miss Ford?’

‘She has engaged my services professionally.’

He nodded.

‘That being the case, and as far as I am concerned, I should make no objection if you care to be present. Of course he may object, in which case-’

Miss Silver smiled graciously.

‘You are too good, Superintendent. I should be very much interested.’

Martin rang the bell, and when Simmons appeared asked him to tell Mr Ford that he would like to see him.

Geoffrey came into the room in his usual easy manner. He had had a good night – he could not in point of fact remember that he had ever had a bad one – and with even the short lapse of time since his interview with the police he had been able to persuade himself that he had made a favourable impression, and that all would now be well. These things were a nine days’ wonder, but they soon died down and were forgotten. Once the inquest and the funeral were over, they would all be able to go back to their usual way of life. Meanwhile he supposed that there were formalities which the police had to attend to, and that they would naturally have recourse to him as the man of the house. His manner was pleasant and assured as he said,

‘Oh, good-morning, Superintendent. What can I do for you?’

‘There are just a few questions I should like to put to you, Mr Ford. As Miss Silver tells me she has been professionally retained by Miss Adriana Ford, you will not, perhaps, object to her presence.’

Geoffrey stared. He wasn’t going to refuse, but his voice stiffened as he said,

‘Oh, no, of course not.’

‘Then shall we sit down?’

Geoffrey’s colour deepened a shade. He didn’t care about being asked to sit down in what he regarded as his own house. He took a chair and sat as for a business interview. The Superintendent followed his example. His tone was grave as he said,

‘Mr Ford, I have to ask you if you have nothing to add to your account of the events on the night of Miss Meriel Ford’s death.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘When I asked you whether she accompanied you on your visit to Mrs Trent at the Lodge you said of course not – she would not have gone there without being asked. You are quite sure she did not go there with you?’

‘Of course I’m sure! Why should she?’

‘Mr Ford, please think very carefully before you answer this. You say that Miss Meriel Ford did not accompany you to the Lodge. What I am asking you now is, did she follow you there?’

‘Why should she?’

‘She left the drawing-room in search of you. You had not been gone very long, but you say that you had already left the house by way of the study window.’

‘I must have done.’

‘Why must?’

‘Because I didn’t see her.’

‘Going out by the French window like that, you must have left it unlocked behind you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then she had only to try the handle to know that you had gone out.’

‘Why should she try the handle?’

Martin said in an authoritative voice,

‘Mr Ford, I have a pretty extensive account of the conversation in the drawing-room both before and after you left it. Miss Meriel Ford was sarcastic on the subject of your having letters to write, and made it quite clear that she believed you were going to see Mrs Trent. You said you were going to the study to write letters. When she found that you were not there, it seems to me that it would be quite natural for her to try the glass door, and if she found it open to follow you.’

Geoffrey Ford looked at him haughtily. He considered himself to be an easy-going man, but his temper was becoming rasped. He said,

‘That is just supposition!’

Martin returned his look very directly.

‘Not entirely. We have found a good fresh print of her left hand on the wall between the front door and the living-room at the Lodge, and another of her right hand high up on the jamb of the living-room door. Any prints on the handle would, of course, have been overlaid, but the two I have mentioned are clear and recent. The one on the jamb points to the probability that she stood by that door and listened. Both you and Mrs Trent must know whether she entered that room or not. It seems very improbable that she would come to the door of the very room you were in and go no farther, and it is not in keeping with what I have heard of her character. She was not a timid person, and by all accounts she had no objection to a scene.’

Geoffrey Ford had begun to feel cold. If he went on saying that Meriel hadn’t followed him and they found any more of those damned fingerprints inside the living-room, he would be sunk. He tried to remember just what Meriel had done. She had burst into the room and made a scene. This blasted policeman was right about that – there was nothing she liked better. But had she touched anything? He didn’t think she had. She stood there and waved her hands about, all very theatrical. And just before she went she had stooped down and picked something up. He hadn’t noticed what it was at the time – he hadn’t really thought about it. But now, when he was trying to remember, it came back to him. The thing she had picked up was a handkerchief. Her hand had gone down empty, and had come up with a little screwed-up handkerchief clutched in the palm. An amber-coloured handkerchief. Esmé hadn’t seen it. It was when she had turned towards him and away from Meriel. Esmé didn’t see it, but it was her handkerchief. Her handkerchief, with her name on it. And it had been found in the summerhouse by the pool. He had forgotten about Meriel’s fingerprints. Meriel must have taken Esmé‘s handkerchief to the pool. She must have dropped it in the summerhouse. Deliberately. He stared at Superintendent Martin, and heard him say,

‘I shall have to ask you to accompany me to the Station for further questioning.’

Chapter Thirty-seven

Miss Silver made good progress with the white woolly shawl that morning. She found the process of knitting very conducive to thought, the gentle rhythmical movement of the needles forming a barrier against small inevitable distractions. Behind this barrier she found herself able to pursue the careful examination of motive, character, and action. When she had reached certain conclusions she put her work away in the flowered knitting-bag and went up to her bedroom.

Emerging a little later in the black cloth coat, the hat which she considered suitable for a morning walk – older and with less trimming than the one in which she had travelled down – the neat laced shoes, the woollen gloves, and the elderly fur tippet, she encountered Meeson, charged with a message. Adriana would like to see her – ‘And if you ask me, Miss Silver, it’s time somebody did. There’s just one thing she ought to be doing and doing it quick, and that’s packing up and getting out of here before the whole lot of us get murdered. And if I’ve said it to her once I’ve said it to her twenty times since poor old Mabel got pushed in the pool. “If anyone would do it to her, they’d do it to you or to me!” I said. “As soon as look at us! And sooner! For once murdering takes hold of anyone they don’t know how to stop, and that’s a fact! First poor old Mabel that you wouldn’t have thought had an enemy in the world, and then Meriel, and no one knows who next!” And all I get out of her is, “Gertie for God’s sake stop talking!” ’

Adriana was standing by the window staring out. She turned as Miss Silver entered, and came over to her, limping more noticeably than she had done since her visit to Montague Mansions. When she spoke her voice was harsh.