PAUL HARLEY, with Wessex and Inspector Aylesbury, presently set out for Market Hilton, where Colin Camber and Ah Tsong were detained and where the body of Colonel Menendez had been conveyed for the purpose of the post-mortem. I had volunteered to remain at Cray’s Folly, my motive being not wholly an unselfish one.
“Refer reporters to me, Mr. Knox,” said Inspector Wessex. “Don’t let them trouble the ladies. And tell them as little as possible, yourself.”
The drone of the engine having died away down the avenue, I presently found myself alone, but as I crossed the hall in the direction of the library, intending to walk out upon the southern lawns, I saw Val Beverley coming toward me from Madame de Stämer’s room.
She remained rather pale, but smiled at me courageously.
“Have they all gone, Mr. Knox?” she asked. “I have really been hiding. I suppose you knew?”
“I suspected it,” I said, smiling. “Yes, they are all gone. How is Madame de Stämer, now?”
“She is quite calm. Curiously, almost uncannily calm. She is writing. Tell me, please, what does Mr. Harley think of Inspector Aylesbury’s preposterous ideas?”
“He thinks he is a fool,” I replied, hotly, “as I do.”
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