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  His eyes dwelt on her with a curious appraising look.

  “Don’t be stupid. You’re not a stupid woman, so don’t pretend you are. Jimmy’s got his loyalties. I’m telling you that you’d better respect them. If you don’t you may find you have smashed something you can’t put together again. If you don’t want Minnie to meals, give her a sitting-room of her own-she’d love it. She wouldn’t want to meddle with your parties-she’d be only too pleased to keep out of the way. And she’d make herself useful. I know she did all the mending for Marcia and the house.”

  “Thank you-Gladys Marsh does all the sewing I want. And she amuses me. You should hear her on the village. No, it’s no use, Antony. And you had better not go on, or you’ll make me angry. I don’t want to be angry.” She looked at him sweetly and broke into a laugh. “I’d have been raging if it had been anyone else, but you mustn’t take advantage of my having a soft corner somewhere for you.” She came closer. “I have, you know.”

  He said in a hard, even tone,

  “Minnie has been here a long time.”

  The clear, natural colour brightened in Lois’ cheeks. She kept her voice silky.

  “And she’s in love with Jimmy. Why don’t you say it, darling? She’s been in love with him for all that long time you keep harping on. I don’t find it exactly a recommendation, you know.”

  Antony was smiling. If Julia had been there she would have known just how angry he was when he smiled like that.

  “My dear Lois, are you asking me to believe that you are jealous of Minnie? I really would like you to be serious, if you don’t mind. We in this family have been Minnie’s family for twenty-five years. We are the only family she has got. We rather take her for granted, and we all impose on her a good deal, but we are very fond of her. She loves us all a great deal better than we deserve. She adores Jimmy. It is all on such a simple, humble plane that the most jealous person in the world couldn’t take exception to it. Be generous and leave the poor little thing alone. It’s going to pretty well kill her if you tear her up by the roots. Jimmy has never thought of her except as part of the family. Let her alone there, and he never will.” The smile had gone. The dark face was earnest.

  Lois put up the rose she held and flicked him lightly on the cheek.

  “You ought to have been called to the Bar, darling. I feel exactly like a jury. And now I’ve got to consider my verdict.”

  “Reconsider it, Lois.”

  She said,

  “We’ll see. Come and help me do the flowers.”

  CHAPTER 10

  It was about a fortnight after this that Miss Maud Silver received a visitor. As he did not come by appointment, she was not expecting him. Her mind was, in fact, pleasantly occupied with family affairs. Her niece Ethel, whose husband was a bank manager in the Midlands, had written her a most gratifying account of the way her son Johnny was settling down at school. Very pleasant-very pleasant indeed. One did not like to think of a child being homesick. But Johnny was so sensible-a good steady lad and likely to do well.

  Altogether, she felt deep cause for gratitude. Not only had she herself been preserved without injury throughout the war, but her flat in Montague Mansions had suffered no damage, for one really could not count a few broken windows. The curtains had suffered, it is true, but they had done long and honourable service, and she had now been able to replace them in just the right shade of blue to go with her carpet-that rather bright shade which she still called “peacock,” but which now went by the name of “petrol.” A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but a colour by such an ugly name as petrol lost half its charm, to the ear at any rate. Miss Silver continued to speak of her curtains as peacock blue.

  The worn edge of the carpet was now very well hidden by the book-case, and the carpet itself would do for another two or three years, but she was contemplating new coverings for the waisted Victorian chairs with their wide laps, their bow legs, and their bright, carved walnut edges. She would have had them this summer if it had not been for Johnny going to school, but it had been a real pleasure to help Ethel with his outfit.

  She sat very upright in one of the chairs that was going to be re-covered, precise and old-fashioned from the hair with its tightly curled fringe in front and its neat coils behind, to the small feet placed primly side by side. The hair was rigidly controlled by a net, and the feet enclosed in black thread stockings-in winter they would have been wool-and black beaded slippers. Where she procured the latter was a mystery as deep as any she had been called upon to solve in her professional career. Detective Sergeant Abbott of Scotland Yard, who was her devoted slave, declared it to be insoluble. For the rest, she wore a dress of artificial silk in a hard shade of brown with dreadful little orange and green dots and dashes disposed in aimless groups upon its surface. It had been new two years ago, and it was not wearing very well.

  Frank Abbott hoped for its early decease. It was fastened at the neck by a bog-oak brooch in the form of a rose with a pearl at the centre. She also wore a thin gold chain supporting a pince-nez. As she only used glasses for fine print, the chain was looped to the left side of her bodice and fastened there with a gold bar brooch. Except for the fact that her skirt cleared the floor by several inches, she might have stepped directly out of a photograph-album of the late nineteenth century. That this was still her spiritual home was made abundantly clear by furniture of the middle fifties, and by the pictures which hung upon her patterned walls, these being reproductions of some of the most famous paintings of the Victorian age. From time to time she shifted them round, exchanging them with those which decorated her bedroom. At the moment “Bubbles” hung above the fireplace, with “The Black Brunswicker” and “The Monarch of the Glen” on either side, whilst “Hope.” “The Soul’s Awakening,” and “The Huguenot” decorated the other walls. The mantelshelf, the top of the book-case, and various occasional tables, were thronged with photographs in plush and silver frames. Sometimes the two were combined-silver filigree on plush. But the photographs were of the young-for the most part the very young. There were babies of all ages-the babies who might never have been born if Miss Silver had not intervened to bring some hidden cause of evil to light and deliver the innocent. The fathers and mothers of the babies were there too-strong young men and pretty girls, allowing some debt of gratitude to the little dowdy spinster with the neat features and the mouse-coloured hair. It was her portrait gallery and the record of her cases, and it grew fuller every year.

  Miss Silver read the postscript of Ethel Burkett’s letter again:

  “I can’t thank you enough for everything. Johnny shouldn’t need any more stockings this year, but if you have any of the grey wool left, I shall be so grateful for some for Derek. He is growing so fast.”

  She smiled as she put the letter back into its envelope. The wool for Derek’s stockings was already wound, and half an inch of ribbing was on the needles.

  As she got up to put Ethel’s letter away, the door opened and her invaluable Hannah announced,

  “Mr. Latter-”

  She saw a slight, fresh-complexioned man with a worried air. That was her first impression of Jimmy Latter-his slightness, his fresh colour, and his worry. By the time she had him sitting opposite to her and her fingers were busy with her knitting needles, she had placed him as a country gentleman who didn’t spend very much of his time in London. His clothes had come from a good tailor, but they were not new- oh, by no means. They were pre-war. Material as good as that had only again become available quite recently.

  If the clothes were old, and her visitor middle-aged, she judged the worry to be new. Anxiety of long standing leaves unmistakable marks. Mr. Latter’s fresh skin showed no lines that were not pleasant ones. There were the puckers which laughter leaves about the eyes, and the moulding which it gives to the lips. Whatever the trouble was, it was quite recent. She smiled and said,

  “What can I do for you?”

  Jimmy Latter was wondering why he had come,
and how he could get away. The smile changed the direction of his thoughts. Nice little woman, friendly little woman. Comfortable. Nice comfortable room. Rather jolly pictures. He remembered that one over the mantelpiece, hanging in Mrs. Mercer’s drawing-room as far back as when he and Minnie were children. Something about this little woman that reminded him of Minnie-nice quiet way with her-didn’t rush you. Only of course older. He said,

  “Well, I don’t know-I mean, I don’t know that there’s anything you can do. I don’t know that there’s anything to be done.”

  “But you have come to see me, Mr. Latter.”

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “Yes-I know-one does things like that, and then when you get there you feel that you are making a fool of yourself.”

  The smile came again.

  “Does that matter very much? I shall not think so.”

  He said, “Oh, well-” and began to fidget with a bunch of keys he had fished out of his pocket. “You see, I heard about you last year from Stella Dundas-she’s a kind of cousin of mine. She couldn’t say enough about you.”

  Miss Silver’s needles clicked. Derek’s sock revolved. She held her hands low, knitting with great rapidity in the Continental manner.

  “I was very glad to be able to help Mrs. Dundas. It was quite a trifling matter.”

  “Not to her, it wasn’t-she thought a lot of those pearls. She said it was marvellous the way you spotted the thief.”

  Miss Silver inclined her head.

  “Have you had something stolen, Mr. Latter?”

  “Well, no, I haven’t.” He jingled the keys. “As a matter of fact it’s something a good bit more serious than that. Look here, if I tell you about it, it will be all in confidence, won’t it?”

  Miss Silver gave her slight cough.

  “Naturally, Mr. Latter. That is understood.”

  He hesitated, swinging the key-ring to and fro.

  “I suppose you get told some pretty queer things?”

  She smiled again.

  “You must not ask me what my other clients say.”

  “Oh, no, of course not-I didn’t mean that. But this isn’t a thing to be talked about. The fact is, I don’t believe it myself, and it worries me. It’s about Lois-my wife. She thinks someone is trying to poison her.”

  Miss Silver said, “Dear me!” And then, “What makes her think so?”

  Jimmy Latter rumpled his hair.

  “Well, it all began with her going to that fellow Memnon. I expect you’ve heard of him.”

  Miss Silver coughed disapprovingly and said, “Oh, yes.”

  “Well, he told her to beware of poison. But she didn’t think anything about it, you know-not until she began to have these queer attacks.”

  “What kind of attacks?”

  He looked very worried indeed, and he sounded worried, too.

  “Nausea and retching. She’s never had anything like them before, and they come on just for nothing at all.”

  “Has she seen a doctor?”

  “No-she won’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “She says what’s the use? If there is someone trying to poison her, he can’t stop them-there isn’t anything one can do-well, is there? That’s what she says.”

  “I cannot agree as to that. I should like to hear a little more about these attacks. When did she have the first one?”

  “About a fortnight ago. She’d been up in town, and she went to see this fellow Memnon, and he warned her like I told you. She came back home-we were having a family party. After dinner, when we were all sitting in the drawing-room, she suddenly ran out of the room. She came back again presently, and I didn’t know what had happened until afterwards, but it seems she had been very sick. That was the first time.”

  Miss Silver coughed.

  “How long was she away from the room?”

  Jimmy dropped the keys and bent to pick them up.

  “About a quarter of an hour-not more.”

  “You noticed that particularly?”

  “I always notice when she isn’t there.”

  “And how did she seem when she returned?”

  He said with complete simplicity,

  “I thought how beautiful she looked.”

  Miss Silver knitted for a moment in silence. Then she enquired,

  “Did anyone see her during the attack?”

  “Oh, yes, Minnie Mercer did-Miss Mercer.”

  “I will ask you to explain your household presently. You say that you were a family party. Just now I would like to know whether Mrs. Latter had anything to eat or drink which the rest of the family did not.”

  “Only the coffee,” said Jimmy Latter.

  CHAPTER 11

  When Miss Silver had elicited that Mrs. Latter was the only one of the household who took Turkish coffee, and that in fact only one other person had taken coffee at all-that the Turkish coffee was prepared by the cook in the kitchen, a drop of vanilla added, and the cup placed together with a sugar-basin and a miniature decanter of cognac upon a salver in the pantry where every member of the household could have had access to it, she shook her head slowly and said,

  “A very confusing incident. When was the next attack?”

  “On the following day, after lunch.”

  “Was it more severe, or less?”

  “About the same.”

  “Did you witness the attack?”

  “Yes, I did. She was very sick, poor girl.”

  Miss Silver was knitting rapidly.

  “But she was all right a little while afterwards? There were no ill effects?”

  “No, thank God.”

  “Now, Mr. Latter-what did your wife eat at lunch that the rest of the party did not?”

  Jimmy rumpled his hair again.

  “That’s what’s so puzzling-she didn’t have anything.”

  “No coffee?”

  “No.”

  “Nothing to drink?”

  “She doesn’t drink at meals. Slimming, you know-but she’s got a lovely figure-she doesn’t need to.”

  The ribbing on Derek’s stocking was more than an inch deep. The needles twinkled briskly.

  “Mr. Latter, will you tell me just what you had to eat?”

  Jimmy rubbed his nose.

  “Well now, let me see if I can remember. I ought to be able to, because I went over it with Minnie to see if there was anything which would account for Lois being upset, but there wasn’t. There was cold lamb and salad-lettuce, beetroot and tomato, and potatoes in their jackets. Then there was a cheese savoury, but Lois didn’t have any of that-and custard-glasses of fruit salad in syrup. She had one of those and so did I, and so did Ellie, and Antony, and Julia.”

  “They were separate custard-glasses?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who served them?”

  “Lois had them in front of her. She took one, and helped the others.”

  “She helped herself?”

  “Oh, yes, definitely.”

  “Was there any reason why she should have taken one glass rather than another?”

  He dropped the keys again. This time he let them lie.

  “Yes, there was,” he said. “There was only one without cream. I never thought about that-she doesn’t take cream.”

  Miss Silver stopped knitting for a moment. She looked at him gravely.

  “Who would have access to these glasses of fruit after the cook had prepared them?”

  He plunged into explanations.

  “ Antony -my cousin Antony Latter-he collected the meat-plates and took them out. We haven’t a proper staff at present, so we wait on ourselves… Julia and Ellie, my stepsisters- Mrs. Street -and Miss Vane-they were in and out… And so was Minnie. I didn’t want her to do anything, because there were plenty without her, but she would go. I think Julia brought in the savoury, and Minnie the custard-glasses. She will always be doing something-she’s so unselfish.”

  Miss Silver laid her knitting down on the
arm of her chair and rose to her feet.

  “I think, Mr. Latter, that you had better give me the particulars of your household before we go any farther. I find there is a tendency to confusion.”

  As he picked up his keys and followed her to the writing-table he had a guilty conviction that the confusion could be nobody’s fault but his own. If he had not had a stepmother who had remarried, it would all be so much easier to explain, but still there would have been Minnie who was no relation at all-

  At this point he became hopelessly fogged, because it occurred to him that if it hadn’t been for Marcia and her twins, Minnie never would have been imported into his household. He found himself quite unable to think of the last twenty-five years without her, and quite bewildered at the prospect of having to face a future in which she had no part. He watched gloomily whilst Miss Silver took out a bright red copybook, wrote a heading, and waited, pencil poised, for the particulars she desired.

  It cannot be said that the manner in which he produced them was calculated to clarify the situation, but Miss Silver was experienced and firm. When he digressed she brought him back, when he became involved she picked up a thread and disentangled it. In the end she had everyone written down neatly in her red copybook:

  Mr. James Latter-51-of Latter End, Rayle.

  Mrs. Latter-37-formerly Mrs. Doubleday-two years married.

  Antony Latter-28-first cousin-recently demobilized-about to enter family publishing business as a junior partner.

  Mrs. Street amp; Miss Julia Vane-24-twin daughters of Mr. Latter’s stepmother.

  Mrs. Street has a husband in hospital at Crampton. Miss Vane is engaged in literary work in London, but has been a frequent visitor during the past fortnight. Before that there was a breach.

  Miss Minnie Mercer-48-daughter of the late Dr. John Mercer, family physician to the Latter household, which she entered on her father’s death, just after Mrs. Vane returned to Latter End as a widow for the second time. The twins were born a few months later.

  Mrs. Maniple-70-cook-housekeeper-in her fifty-fourth year of service at Latter End.