"You know what caused the jury to fail to agree?" said Mrs. Bradley at last.
"Oh, I know everybody on our side blamed me," said Muriel, recovering herself a little. "But, after all, I wasn't any worse than that half-baked sailor. How could you expect he would be believed! You must have known that his boyhood would tell against him. Nobody likes evidence from criminals."
"No, I agree about that. I had weighed that up very carefully, I assure you, before I suggested that he should be sought for to give evidence at all at the trial."
"There's one thing I ought to ask you," said Muriel, abandoning the subject of Larry. "Do I have to go into that awful witness box again? Because I don't believe I can do it."
" Needs must, when the devil drives, I should imagine," said Mrs. Bradley, with brisk, assured unkindness. Muriel looked at her, puzzled and slightly annoyed by these extraordinary tactics.
"What did you mean about love being all on one side?" she enquired in a voice of mingled curiosity and alarm.
"Oh, that!" said Mrs. Bradley. "That brings me back to my discrepancy, I believe. It's like trying to find a mistake in a column of figures. Ten to one you add it up again incorrectly, making the same mistake as you had made before. Have you ever done that?"
"Yes," said Muriel, looking pallid." But what's this all got to do with me?"
"What indeed?" said Mrs. Bradley with an unpleasant leer. "What, indeed? Well, good-bye, Mrs. Turney. I shall hope to see you again before the new trial."
"But you must tell me ... You must tell me what to expect," said Muriel wildly.
"Blessed is he that expecteth nothing," quoted Mrs. Bradley solemnly, "for he shall be gloriously surprised! And I shall be surprised," she added, as though to herself, "if I do not find the last clue I want in the haunted house."
"You are going there again?"
"To-night."
"Alone?"
"Well, I don't suppose there will be any point in taking Bella Foxley's lawyer with me, or the gentleman who led for the prosecution at the trial. Were you, by any chance, offering to come?"
"Me? Oh, I couldn't! As I told you before, my nerves simply wouldn't stand it."
"Yes, you did tell me, and I fully sympathise. You remember by the way, what you said about the poltergeist?"
"What—what do you mean?"
"Don't you remember telling me that you were always afraid that something inexplicable would happen in that house? I believe you used the expression 'playing with fire.' Do you believe that something outside human agency can function as a result of human interference with the province of the immaterial?"
"Something from beyond the veil, do you mean?" asked Muriel, with a shudder.
"I mean ..."
"Yes, I know what you mean. Well, I must say I'd rather you went there now than that I did. In fact, I couldn't do it. I really couldn't do it. I should die of fright if I so much as put my foot over the doorstep. After all, you never know what you might be invoking."
"True. Or provoking. That is what I mean. And, of course, three people were murdered there—one quickly, and two very slowly and horribly, weren't they?"
Muriel went so white that Mrs.. Bradley thought she was going to faint or be sick. She looked at her fixedly, until the widow showed signs of recovery.
"I expect I shall get to the house by about eleven to-night," she went on. "I suppose the electric switches are still functioning? Then I shall remain until people turn up to be shown over the house next day. If nobody comes, I shall leave as soon as I have made a thorough exploration of the place."
"Well, I wish you luck," said Muriel tremulously. "Be—be careful, won't you?"
"Very, very careful," said Mrs. Bradley, with her horrid cackle. "By the way," she added, "I have advised Bella to remind the court where she was, and what she was doing whilst those boys—whom I pledge myself to avenge!—were starving to death in that cellar."
The caretaker had no authority to admit Mrs. Bradley to the house, but made no objection to doing so.
"Come to see how them there old ghosties be getting on, like, I do suppose!" he said, with jocular intent.
"Exactly so," replied Mrs. Bradley solemnly. "And now, I want you to let me have this key until to-morrow. Will you?"
He scratched his head.
"I take it to be Miss Foxley, her's still the owner?" he said cautiously. "Although they do have her still in gaol?"
"Certainly she is. Who else?"
"Why, nobody. Think they'm going to hang her?"
"Who can say? The gentleman who defended her told me afterwards how well you gave your evidence."
He looked pleased, but observed anxiously :
"Ah, but, you see, I never told all I knowed."
"How was that?"
"Well, they didn't ask me, see? And they do take ee up so sharp if so be you answers out of your turn."
"Yes, that is perfectly true. I suppose you could have told them that Mrs. Turney visited the house alone, after the death of her husband and after Miss Foxley was arrested."
The old man gaped at her.
"That do be right, that do," he declared. "But how did ee know?"
"You told me so yourself."
"Oh, so that's it, is it? There isn't nothing in it, after all."
"I wouldn't say that. If you look out, a little later on, you may see her visit the house again. Take no notice. She has her key."
"Ah, yes, so she have. Her and Mr. Turney and Miss Foxley, all of 'em had keys. But I should have thought Miss Foxley might have collected of 'em up when she bought the house for herself."
"Well, I don't think she did. So don't worry Mrs. Turney when she comes, if you happen to see her. She has her reasons for visiting the house again, and as they are connected with the murder, I don't suppose she'll want to be disturbed."
"I know how to respect folks' miseries," replied the ancient man. He shuffled back to his cottage, and Mrs. Bradley went to call upon Miss Biddle.
"I've come with an extraordinary request," she said. "I want you to let me remain here, more or less in hiding, until about seven to-night. Will you?"
"Why, of course," replied her friend. "And I suppose I mustn't ask why, so I shan't put out even the littlest tiny feeler."
"You shall know all before morning, if you wish," said Mrs. Bradley. "Now, where can I hire a slow-witted, heavy, mild, obedient horse? And I want to borrow an iron well-cover, the heavier the better."
"Well, it had better be Mr. Carter for the horse. I expect he'd let you hire Pharaoh. As for the well-cover, you can have mine, but you'll have to let me help you lift it if you want to take it away. Oh, dear, how you excite my curiosity! But I ought not to speak of that now!"
"What kind of man is Mr. Carter?" asked Mrs. Bradley.
"Well, he's very lame, poor man, since his accident, but if you wanted someone to help you in any way, you couldn't do better than to have young Bob, his eldest son. Look here, let me do the arranging for you. I know the family quite well."
So Mrs. Bradley explained what had to be done, and, as it was obviously cruel not to take Miss Biddle completely into her confidence, she told her everything.
By five o'clock, the plan had been completed and partly tested. Young Bob proved to be an intelligent, grinning lad, dependable, however, and very much interested in the game that Mrs. Bradley proposed to play.