Appealed to for confirmation, Mrs. Craddock thought so too. The money was housekeeping money. Mr. Craddock drew a cheque about once a month when he gave her the housekeeping money. Some of it would be in notes, and some in silver. She had run out of silver, and Miss Gwyneth had very kindly changed one of the notes. Oh, no, it never occurred to her that there was anything wrong with it.
She sat drooping in her chair and never raised her eyes. Her words were barely audible. Jackson was reminded of a rabbit in a trap, too frightened to move. And what in the world was she frightened of? That was what he would like to know. He knew fear when he saw it, and here it was, plain enough, and he wanted to know why.
Frank Abbott was making notes. He too was aware of Emily Craddock’s fear. Nervous, delicate woman. Might be just nerves-might be she knew something. He listened while Peveril Craddock spoke of having an account at the County Bank in Ledlington, and of the cheque drawn every month for household expenses. They weren’t getting anywhere. They had got to go through with it, but there really wasn’t the remotest chance of identifying the pound note poor Wayne had spotted with any one of those which seemed to have been drifting in and out of the Colony. It was like looking for a pin in a box of pins. The only chance was that they might get a line on one of these people through some involuntary reaction. He looked up, and got one reaction at any rate. Mr. John Robinson was regarding him with a gleam of critical humour. Sitting as he was, on the window-seat with his back to the light, his features in shadow and a good deal obscured by beard and eyebrow, it was extraordinary how that transient gleam came across. As clearly as he had ever got anything in his life, Inspector Abbott received the impression that the police were making fools of themselves, and that they had Mr. Robinson’s sympathy.
Well, at any rate Jackson had finished with the pound note and was now very politely inviting the company to explain individually just what each of them was doing between the.hours of two and seven on the previous afternoon. No one making any demur, he proceeded to go round the circle clockwise.
“Miss-er-Miranda?”
She shook back her mass of dark red hair.
“Miranda,” she said deeply. “Neither Miss nor Mrs.-just Miranda.”
Inspector Jackson thought this was as odd a lot of people as he had ever come across. He avoided the issue.
“Just so. Perhaps you would not mind telling me what you were doing yesterday atternoon.”
“I don’t mind in the least-why should I? I went for a walk up over the common. I can’t say exactly when I started, or when I got back, but I had to turn on the lights when I came in, so I suppose it was about four o’clock.”
“Mr. Remington?”
Augustus heaved a sigh of utter boredom.
“My dear man, how repetitive! Haven’t we had all this before?… No? Well, I suppose I must take your word for it. These sordid journeys-a bus always seems to me to be one of the lower mechanical organisms! I do hope you don’t expect me to remember every time I go to Dedham or to Ledlington… Oh, just yesterday afternoon? Well, I will do what I can.” He turned to Miranda. “I suppose I did go into Ledlington yesterday afternoon?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Augustus! You know perfectly well you did. I saw you start, and you came back on the five o’clock bus with Gwyneth.”
“Ah, yes-my quest! It was successful. I found the exquisite shade which had eluded me for so long. But these things have no relation to time or space-I am sure you will understand that.”
He gazed earnestly at Jackson, who said bluntly,
“What bus did you go in by?”
“Would it have been the one-forty?” He once more appealed to Miranda.
She nodded curtly.
“If you caught it. I saw you start. I didn’t see you get on the bus, but you had plenty of time.”
He gave a sigh-of relief this time.
“There you are, Inspector! She always knows everything.”
Jackson went on grimly, but as might have been expected, Mr. Remington’s account of how he spent the afternoon was vague in the extreme. He had walked about and looked at the old houses. He had fulfilled his quest. He had seen Peveril Craddock’s car parked in the Market Square. Oh, no, he had no idea what time that was. He had had a cup of coffee in one of the shops, but he couldn’t say which. He had wandered into a picture shop and spent some time there looking at the work of a young artist who had evolved an entirely new technique-“Not yet fully developed of course, Inspector, but showing a definite aspiration towards the super-sensible.”
Inspector Jackson turned with relief to Mr. John Robinson.
“And you, sir?”
John Robinson sounded amused. He spoke with an intensification of his country drawl.
“I’m afraid I must plead guilty to having been in Ledlington too. But I didn’t take the bus. I used my bicycle, and-I’m afraid I can’t be very accurate about departure and arrival. I went out after my midday meal-but then I just have it when I’m hungry. And I didn’t intend to go into Ledlington at all-it was just a sudden whim. I meant to go up into the Rowbury Woods, but there was someone shooting there, so I turned off, and when I found I was getting near Ledlington I thought I might as well fetch up there.”
“Can you fix the time at all?”
“I suppose it was round about three. I can’t swear to it-my mind was rather taken up.”
“Round about three. And what did you do then, Mr. Robinson?”
“I dropped into the Museum and had a look round there. I’m interested in birds, you know, and they have the Hedlow collection.”
“How long do you suppose you stayed there?”
“Ah,” said John Robinson-“there you have me! I’m afraid I have no idea. Time, you know-very variable, as Remington says.” His words took on an imitative inflection. “ ‘Long lines of cliff, breaking, have left a chasm, and in the chasm are foam and yellow sands,’ as the poet remarks. You will, of course, see the application.” His eye went round the circle with a mocking gleam. “Museums do rather have that effect, you know-like some of the older Clubs-one passes into a trancelike state practically indistinguishable from death. The danger is that one might just be picked up and buried before one knew what was happening. I hope they would do it handsomely. ‘And the little port had seldom seen a costlier funeral.’ You will naturally recognize the quotation. One of Tennyson’s major lapses. I shouldn’t like anyone to think it was mine.”
Knowing his Miss Silver’s reverence for the great Victorian poet, Frank Abbott expected, and looked for, some mark of disapproval. What he saw was simply a frown, a frown of peculiar intensity. Mr. John Robinson sustained it. It was Miss Silver who looked away.
Inspector Jackson continued his interrogation.
Miss Gwyneth was able to give a most meticulous account of her blameless afternoon’s shopping. Miss Elaine had remained at home, where, after a brief rest, she had devoted herself to entertaining her young friend Miss Elliot.
Miss Silver stated that she had gone into Ledlington by the bus which arrived there just before three, had met an old friend with whom she spent the afternoon, and returned to Deeping by the bus which left at five. She was asked no further questions.
Mr. Craddock had awaited his turn in dignified silence. Asked now to give an account of his movements, he complied in the grand manner.
“I drove into Ledlington. I did not look at my watch, so I cannot give you the exact time. I was immersed in my literary labours, and did not join the family for lunch-when this happens Mrs. Craddock brings me a tray. When I had completed the passage upon which I was engaged I felt the need of some fresh air. I drove over to Ledlington and parked in the Market Square. I then walked about the town and made a few purchases -stamps at the post office, papers at the station-things like that. After which I picked up my car again and came home.”