"Count on me in any way you like," responded Mr. Pratt gallantly. "But tell me all first. I am all ears and curiosity."
"Well, come with me to interview Muriel Turney, then," said Mrs. Bradley. "We can do it to-morrow. It isn't so far from here. I don't need to notify her that we are coming. She is pretty sure to be at home. And this evening, between now and the time you go to sleep, I wish you'd re-read Bella Foxley's diary. I am going to confront her with it when I visit her next time. I think I may get some interesting reactions."
"You know, you're a public menace," said Mr. Pratt.
"I am wondering," said Mrs. Bradley, "whether—but let me begin at the beginning."
Muriel looked at her in perplexity. Her weak face was pale, and she had given a cry of surprise and, it seemed, of relief, when she had opened the door to find Mrs. Bradley waiting on the step.
"Yes, certainly," she said vaguely. "Sit down, won't you?"
Mrs. Bradley sat down.
"To begin at the beginning, then," she said——" or, rather, at the end, if you do not object to a paradox—what are you going to do if, after all, Bella Foxley is acquitted? It is a fact we have to face, you know, that she may be. What further steps are you prepared to take?"
"Why—why, I don't know, I'm sure. Do you mean you think she will be acquitted?"
"I was surprised that they did not acquit her this time."
"Yes, I suppose—that is, it would have been dreadful, wouldn't it? Do you really think she'll get off?"
"We must be prepared for it," repeated Mrs. Bradley. "Now, then, what do you say?"
"Why, nothing. Poor Bella! I suppose she's been punished already. Perhaps it would be for the best."
"Did your husband possess a sense of humour?" asked Mrs. Bradley. Muriel, not unnaturally, looked completely bewildered by this question, which appeared to have no bearing whatsoever upon what had already been said. She begged Mrs. Bradley's pardon nervously.
"That's all right," said Mrs. Bradley benignly, waving a yellow claw. "Don't mention it."
"I—I don't think I heard what you said."
"Oh, yes, I expect you did. What did you think I said?"
"Had—had Tom a sense of humour?"
"That's it. Well, had he? In his writings, more particularly."
"Well, he—sometimes he would be a bit what he used to call jocular—about the spirits, you know, and what they said."
"He used to be a bit jocular," said Mrs. Bradley solemnly. Then she shuddered—or so it seemed to the unhappy Muriel.
"Of course, a lot of his writing had to be very serious. It was kind of technical," Muriel added. "The Society of Psychical Research ..."
"You don't tell me that he wrote for their journal?"
"I—Oh, well, perhaps he didn't, then. I really don't know what he wrote for. He never bothered me with it. He always said I needn't trouble my head."
"And—was all the love-making on one side?"
"Don't beg my pardon," said Mrs. Bradley gently. "Yes, that was what I said."
"But—I mean—isn't it rather—married people don't talk about such things."
"Why not?"
"Well ..."
"I thought most of the divorce cases were because of it."
"Because of ...?" Muriel's colour heightened. She half rose from her chair. "I don't think I understand what you're talking about."
"Well, this: the boys were starved to death—or nearly to death, we'll say. The bodies—alive or dead—that didn't seem to matter very much to a cruel and wicked woman—were buried. Well, it struck me afterwards—after the trial, I mean— that there was a discrepancy somewhere. Do you see what I mean?"
"No. No, I don't."
"Curious."
"I don't know what you're getting at," said Muriel wildly and shrilly. "But if you say any more about those wretched boys I shall scream."
"Are we alone in the house?"
"I don't know."
"And yet you came to the door. Do you answer the door all the time?"
"Yes. It is an arrangement with my landlady. She answers all the knocks some days, and I answer them the other days. It's just an arrangement."
"Very sensible indeed. What were we saying?"
"I don't remember."
"I do. I mentioned a discrepancy. I wondered whether you would help me to understand. Possibly it is perfectly plain and straightforward, but I can't quite follow it. You remember the first time your husband fell out of the bedroom window?"
"Yes, of course I do, but I thought we said ..."
"Well, on that occasion, your husband was in the house with the boys, and you and Bella were at the inn. Is that correct?"
"Of course it is. You know it is."
"Very well. Now, your husband was hurt by the fall, I presume. Did you nurse him?"
"No. He wouldn't have us put about. He made light of the fall."
"I see. I obtained so little information about this part of the story from Bella's diary that I thought perhaps you might be able to enlarge on it for me."
"But this won't help to get the wicked woman hanged!"
"I'm afraid not, no. You see, the diary mentions the fall, and then Bella announces that she went to the house to see whether she could discover any explanation of it, but, most tantalisingly, she leaves out any account of this visit and merely reports, the next day, that your husband had decided to give up the house as too dangerous. He wasn't in the house when he made that decision, was he?"
"I can't remember whether he was or not."
"I deduced he could not have been, because she goes on, after a mention of other matters, to state that three gentlemen and two ladies interested in psychical research came to the house and asked to be shown over it. She then states that, as she felt sure your husband 'would have wished it'—indicating that he was not able to be consulted on the matter—she herself showed them over the house. You, I suppose, Mrs. Turney, would have been with your husband at the inn?"
"I suppose so. Yes, of course. But I feel so dim and hazy. You see, poor Tom being killed so soon after ..."
"Quite so. Yes, I see. So Bella had the house to herself except for those strangers?"
"Well, yes, she would have had, except for the boys, wouldn't she?"
"Well that's the point. Were the boys there then?"
"Well, unless she'd murdered them by that time."
"But she hadn't. You see, if, as we think, the boys pushed Mr. Turney out of the window—as we have agreed they must have done, haven't we? ..."
"Yes, I suppose we have, but ..."
"And if, when these ladies and gentlemen came to see the haunted house, they had no manifestations of any kind ..."
"Didn't they?"
"Apparently they did not. Well, what does that tell us about the boys?"
"But ..."
"I know. They couldn't have starved to death in two days. In fact, they were alive when Bella was arrested."
"I don't know what you're trying to get me to say," said Muriel. "I can't explain it, if that's what you mean. Either these people didn't come, or else Bella was lying. I don't see why we should have to believe what she put down in that diary."
"Curiously enough, neither do I," said Mrs. Bradley. Muriel looked at her. There was fear, unmistakable, on the shallow little face. Mrs. Bradley nodded, slowly and rhythmically, still keeping her eyes fixed on those of her victim. Muriel was like someone in contact with electricity—-writhing, yet unable to drag herself away.