on Sundays would always be in the drawing room. Tea this afternoon had been eaten but not cleared away. A beautiful Georgian silver teapot graced the tea tray, some sandwiches and a jar of Gentleman's Relish stood beside it Sloan hankered after the sandwiches but not the tea. He had had some tea from a teapot like that once before— pale, straw-coloured stuff with a sinister taste. He had not been at all surprised to learn that it had come from China.
The two policemen were invited to sit on the large sofa in front of the fire. Their combined weights sank into it. Constable Crosby was the heavier of the two which gave Sloan's sitting position an odd list to starboard. No one could have described it as an advantageous situation from which to conduct an interview in what Sloan now knew to be a double murder case.
His tone was sharper than it had been earlier.
'You said before, sir, that you had never seen Mrs. Grace Jenkins until she came to Larking.'
'Actually,' said Hibbs mildly, 'I don't think I saw her until quite a while afterwards. I was away myself, you know, at the time. I told you, if you remember, my old agent fixed up the tenancy.'
'Yes, sir, you did. You showed me a letter.'
'Ah, yes.'
'You showed me a letter,' said Sloan accusingly, 'but I don't think you told me the whole story.'
'No, Inspector? What else was it you wanted to know?'
'Why you sent money
It did not change.
'Come, now,' Hibbs smiled disarmingly. 'You surely can't expect me to have told you a thing like that.'
Mrs. Hibbs nodded in agreement with her husband and said in her pleasant deep voice: 'It was a private benefaction, Inspector. Nothing to do with anyone but ourselves.'
'At the moment, madam, everything to do with Henrietta is to do with us.'
'We could see a need,' said Hibbs, embarrassed, 'that's all.'
'So you set about filling it?'
'That's right, Inspector. I don't hold with all these national appeals. I'd rather give on my own.'
'Charity beginning at home, sir?'
Hibbs flushed. 'If you care to put it like that.'
'I see, sir.' Sloan started to heave himself out of the sofa. MI asked you earlier if the name Hocklington- Garwell conveyed anything to you and you said no…'
'I did.'
'I'm asking you now if you have ever heard the name of Mantriot before.'
'Hugo, you mean?'
'Perhaps. Or Michael. Michael was killed early on. Dunkirk.'
James Hibbs said very soberly, 'Yes, Inspector, of course I have…'
'Of course?'
'He was in the East Callies and I was in the West but . Good Lord… I never thought!'
'You never thought what, sir?'
'Of Henrietta being Hugo's.' Hibbs frowned into the distance. 'I must say, Inspector, in all the years I've been here it's never crossed my mind for an instant.'
'What hasn't, sir?'
'Inspector, are you trying to tell us that Henrietta Jenkins is the Mantriot baby?'
'I don't know, sir. Suppose you tell me.'
'You won't remember, of course…'
'No, sir.'
'It was all pretty ghastly,' said Hibbs. 'It was in the war, you know. Towards the end. Hugo had had a bad war one way and another…'
That, thought Sloan with mounting excitement, would exthe D.S.O. and the M.C.
'… but he got home for a spot of leave just after the baby was born. Everyone was delighted, naturally, but somewent very wrong.'
'What?'
'I don't know.' Hibbs shrugged his well-tailored shoulders. 'They said afterwards that his mind must have been turned. Common enough thing to happen at the time, of course. He must have been through some rotten experiences before the end. Could have happened to any of us, I suppose.'
'What could, sir?' very quietly.
'Didn't you know, Inspector?'
'No, sir. Not yet.'
'One day he killed his wife and then he shot himself.'
Hibbs shook his head sadly. 'It's all a long time ago now, of course. Some nanny took the baby…'
'Grace Jenkins!' cried Mrs. Hibbs suddenly.
'Bless my soul,' said Hibbs.
Sloan started to move towards the door when Hibbs burst out laughing.
'It's a funny world, Inspector. Here's my wife and I sending money to Eleanor Leslie's daughter…'
'What's so odd about that, sir?'
Hibbs stopped laughing and said solemnly, 'Because Eleanor Leslie—that's who Hugo Mantriot married—was a great deal wealthier than you or I shall ever be. She was old Bruce Leslie's only daughter. You know—the shipping people.'
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The next two hours were the busiest young Constable Crosby had ever known. First of all he was put down in front of a pile of dusty old records and told to get on with it. This was particularly difficult as Superintendent Leeyes and Detective-Inspector Sloan were talking round him.
'So Hibbs realised you'd got onto the name and decided to play the surprised innocent,' said Leeyes triumphantly.
'I'm not sure, sir. If so, he did it very well…'
'He would,' snapped Leeyes. 'He's had plenty of time to get ready for it. Twenty-one years.'
'The important thing, of course,' said Sloan, 'is obviously the girl's twenty-first birthday. That'll be the day when she'll come into her mother's money for sure.'
'I should like to be quite certain that the young man at the farm didn't know that,' said Leeyes. 'His—er— wooing was a bit brisk.'
'But not until after Grace Jenkins died,'pointed out Sloan. 'He'd agreed to stay in the background until Henrietta finished at Boleyn College.'
'Then,' said Leeyes pouncing, 'he kills Grace Jenkins and goes ahead with Henrietta.'
Sloan shook his head. 'What I would like to know, sir, is where Cyril Jenkins comes in.'
'I think he committed just the one mistake,' said Leeyes shrewdly. 'He knew who Henrietta was and he was probably the last person alive who did.'
'Bar one,' agreed Sloan ominously.
'Bar one,' agreed Leeyes. 'And what do you propose to do about it, Sloan?'
'Set a trap,' said that policeman, 'so deep that there'll be no getting out of it.'
It was half an hour later when Crosby gave a loud cry. 'Found something interesting, Constable?'
'A report of a road accident, sir.'
'When?'
Crosby glanced up to the top of the newspaper page. 'Almost six months ago.'
Sloan stepped over and read it.
'Do you believe in coincidence, Crosby?'
