Having seen these things, Inspector Lamb said good afternoon and invited her to sit down. He thought she was glad to reach the proffered chair. When she was seated he went out into the hall where Constable Lintott was waiting, shutting the door behind him. Mr. Peter Renshaw, who had been asked to wait in Mr. Craddock’s bedroom, was summoned, and he and Lintott went over together to No. 9. As soon as the door had closed behind the Inspector, Mavis Grey leaned back and relaxed. Perhaps he wasn’t going to come back. Perhaps she would only have to talk to the young policeman who was writing at Ross’s table. Ross’s table… A giddy feeling came over her. She mustn’t think about Ross… It passed. She looked out under her eyelashes at the young policeman. It would be so much easier to talk to him than to that fat, red-faced man who had stared so hard when she came into the room. She hoped earnestly that he wasn’t coming back. But as the thought went through her mind the door opened. He came in and sat down in the chair that was opposite hers. Much too near. She did hate people sitting as near to her as that-unless she liked them very much. She slid her chair back a few inches, and the Inspector said,
“When did you hear of Mr. Ross Craddock’s death?”
All the things that they might possibly ask her had been going round, and round, and round in her head, but this was one which she had never thought of at all. She didn’t know what to say. Her eyes filled with tears.
“The policeman-”
“You knew nothing about it until the constable informed you?”
She shook her head.
“And my uncle and aunt are out for the day. It’s dreadful!”
“Murder commonly is,” said the Inspector. “Now, Miss Grey, I have to ask you some questions. You are not on oath now, but you will be called as a witness at the inquest, and your evidence there will be given on your oath, so will you be as accurate as possible in your answers? Detective Abbott will take then down, and they will be read over to you afterwards. There’s no need for you to be alarmed, but I hope you will tell us just what happened last night.”
Mavis looked down at the grey and white muslin of her dress and the long white gloves she was holding. It was too hot to wear gloves. But her hands were not hot, they were deathly cold and damp.
She said, “Oh, yes,” in a fluttering voice.
“You were at the Ducks and Drakes with Mr. Craddock?”
“Yes.”
“What time did you leave?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would it be somewhere before one o’clock?”
“I think so… Oh, yes, it was, because my uncle and aunt really don’t like my being out late-not just in the ordinary way, you know. I haven’t got a key. They’re very strict and old-fashioned, so it means that someone has to sit up.”
This was one of the bits she had thought about. She felt pleased with herself, because really she was doing it very well. She went on, hurrying to get it over.
“So when I knew how late I was going to be, I rang up and said I would spend the night with Isabel Young-that is, Mrs. James Young, Upton Villa, Carrisbroke Road, Hampstead, Garden City.”
“Hm!” said the Inspector to himself, “Very pat with that address, aren’t you?” Then aloud, “And then, you came back here with Mr. Craddock?”
Mavis’s hands tightened on the gloves.
“Oh, no-of course I didn’t. I went to Isabel’s.”
He leaned forward.
“Miss Grey, I’m going to ask you to be careful. This is a murder case. Your friend Mrs. Young might say that you had stayed the night with her to get you out of a scrape with your uncle and aunt, but do you think she’ll stand up and swear to it on her oath in a court of justice?”
Mavis looked at him in a perfectly terrified manner.
“I did go there.”
“Not at one o’clock, Miss Grey. You came back here with Mr. Craddock. You were seen here.”
Mavis said, “Oh!” and lost her head. “Oh, I wasn’t-who saw me? There wasn’t anyone-Peter wouldn’t-”
“It was not Mr. Peter Renshaw. He has referred me to you. Now, Miss Grey-you were seen, and the best thing you can do is to tell the truth. Lies won’t get you anywhere, and trying to cover things up won’t get you anywhere. You can’t cover things up in a murder case.”
She leaned back, panting a little.
“It’s all very stupid. Of course I’ll tell you the truth. I really did mean to go to Isabel’s. But it’s such a long way, and when he-when Ross suggested that I should come back here and ask my cousin Lucy Craddock to put me up I thought I would.”
“Were you not aware that Miss Craddock was leaving for the Continent yesterday?”
“Ross said she had put off going-he really did, or I wouldn’t have come back here with him-I really wouldn’t. And when I found she had gone I just came in here to have a drink. And Ross was rude to me, so I went over to Peter, and he took me in.”
The Inspector considered this a very economical description. It took him a good deal of questioning to fill in the details-the crash that had waked Miss Bingham, and probably Mr. Peter Renshaw as well; the decanter that had smashed over Mr. Craddock’s head-and he seemed to have asked for it proper; and the girl’s headlong flight, clutching her torn dress-well, that fitted in all right with what Miss Bingham had seen. She hadn’t made any bones about it either, not once he got her going. He was left with no doubt in his mind that one cousin had been rude to her, and the other cousin had taken her in, and that except for a cut over the eye which he had richly deserved Mr. Ross Craddock was alive and hearty at 1 a.m. The question was, what had happened after that? Had Mr. Renshaw gone across to his cousin’s flat and come to such terms with him over the girl that it had ended in a revolver shot? It might have happened that way. Words running high. One at least of the two men flushed with liquor. Mr. Craddock getting out his revolver perhaps, and having it snatched from him. Some sort of a struggle, and-the shot. And the girl running in on them. Yes, it might have been that way very easily. Against it only Abbott’s remark-and by rights Abbott shouldn’t be making remarks-that if he and Miss Grey had both been out of the flat,“ Mr. Renshaw wouldn’t pass her and go in first.”
He studied Miss Mavis Grey with his chin in his hand. He thought she looked like a girl who has said her piece and got it over. She had let go of those gloves she had been wringing into knots and was sitting back. Colour a bit more natural too. He said,
“Did you notice what time the shot was fired?” and saw her flinch.
She caught her breath and said all in a hurry,
“Oh, no-how could I? I never heard any shot.”
“Not with your head right up against this wall? Mr. Renshaw gave you his bedroom, didn’t he? I’ve had a look at the flat, and the head of the bed is not three yards from where you’re sitting now, and not four from the place where Mr. Craddock was found. Come, come, Miss Grey, I think you must have heard that shot.”
“Oh, but I didn’t. I was so tired. I’d been dancing-it was so hot-I was dreadfully tired-I just slept. When I’m like that nothing wakes me-and there was a lot of traffic.”
“Did you hear the traffic in your sleep? Be careful, Miss Grey. You say you were asleep. Did you undress?”
“I took my dress off.”
“Then you must have put it on again, because you were wearing it when Miss Bingham saw you go back into Mr. Renshaw’s flat at three o’clock in the morning.”
“She couldn’t-she didn’t-I was asleep.”
“She is prepared to swear that she did. Don’t you think you had better tell me the truth, Miss Grey?”
A bright angry glow suffused the artificial colour in her cheeks and overflowed it. She clenched her hands over the gloves and said stubbornly,