case you”--he looked at Miles--”in case you by any chance missed her. I said naturally we had, since she must have taken out an identity card.” Hadley paused. “By the way, Miss Seton, have you got your identity card?”
The reflection of Fay's eyes regarded him in the mirror. She had almost finished making up; her hands were steady.
“Yes,” answered Fay.
“As a matter of form, may I see it?”
Fay took the card out of her handbag, gave it to him without comment, and turned back to the mirror. For some reason the look of wild strain was returning to her eyes as she picked up the powder compact again.
(What, thought Miles, is going on under all this?)
“I notice, Miss Seton, that this doesn't give any last address.”
“No. I've been living for the past six years in France.”
“So I understand. You've got a French identity card, of course.”
“I'm afraid not. I lost it.”
“What was your means of employment in France, Miss Seton?”
“I had no fixed means of employment.”
“Is that so?” Hadley's dark eyebrows went up, in contrast to the polish of his steel-grey hair. “Must have been a bit difficult to get rations there, wasn't it?”
“I had no—fixed means of employment.”
“But I understand you've trained professionally both as librarian and as secretary?”
“Yes. That's true.”
“In fact, come to think of it, you were employed as secretary by a Mr. Howard Brooke before his death in nineteen thirty-nine. Now there,” observed Hadley, as though suddenly struck by a new idea, “there's a case where we
(Watch the immense cat approach! Watch its devious courses!)
“But I was forgetting,” said Hadley, dismissing this so instantly that all three of his listeners jumped, “i was forgetting the real reason why I came here?”
“The real reason why you came here?”
“Yes, Miss Seton. Er—your identity car. Don't you want it back?”
“Thank you.”
Fay was compelled to turn around. She took the card from him; and then, in her grey dress and long damp tweed coat, sh stood with her back to the chest-of-drawers. Her body now hid the brief-case, which seemed to shout to heave. If Miles Hammond had been a thief with every seam of his pockets lined with stolen property, he could not have felt guiltier.
“Dr. Fell asked me,” pursued Hadley, “in a strictly unofficial way to keep an eye on you. It seems that you ran away from him . . .”
“I don't think I quite understand. I didn't run away.”
“With the intention of coming back again, of course! That's understood!”
Fay's eyes closed spasmodically, and opened again.
“Just before then, Miss Seton, Dr. Fell was going to ask you something very important.”
“Oh?”
“He instructed m to tell you that he hadn't put the question last night,” continued Hadley, “because he didn't guess then what he guesses at the present time. But he wants very much to have an answer to that question.” Hadley's tone changed only slightly; it was still polite, still casually inquiring; but the whole room seemed to grow warmer as he added:
“May I ask that question now?”
Chapter XVII
The hanging light over the chest-of-drawers shone down on Fay's hair, and brought out the warmth of it in contrast to the apparent coldness of her face and body.
“A question about . . .?” Her hand—Miles could have shouted a warning—instinctively moved toward the brief-case behind her.
“A question,” said Hadley, “In connection with the frightening of Miss Marion Hammond last night.” (Fay's hand darted back again; she straightened up.)
“And I'm afraid,” continued Hadley, “I must preface it by getting the situation clear. Don't mind my notebook, Miss Seton! It's not official. I've only put down what Fell asked me to put down.” His eyes strayed o the identity card in her hand. “Or do you refuse to answer questions, Miss Seton?”
“Do I ever—refuse?”
“Thank you. Now then: with regard tot the frightening of Miss Marion Hammond . . .”
“You may not be always conscious,” sad Hadley, “of what you do or the effect it has.”
Hadley's voice remained quiet when he said this.
“However!” he added quickly, and there was a penetrating quality about his gaze which made the eyes seem to grow larger. “We're not talking now about your conscious guilt or innocence in anything. I'm only trying (what shall I say?) to get this picture clear. As I understand it, you were the last person
Fay gave a quick, hypnotized nod.
“You left her alone in the bedroom in good health and spirits, at . . . about what time?”
“About midnight. I told Dr. Fell so.”
“Ah, yes. So you did— Had Miss Hammond undressed at this time?”
“Yes. She was in blue silk pyjamas. Sitting in a chair by the bedside table.”
“Now, Miss Seton! Considerably later, a shot was fired in Miss Hammond's room. Do you remember what time that was?”
“No. I'm afraid I haven't the remotest idea.”
Hadley swung around to Miles.
“Can you help us, Mr. Hammond? Everyone, including Dr. Fell himself, seems vague about times.”
“I can't help you,” answered Miles, “except in this one thing.” He paused, with the scene coming back to him. “After the shot, I ran up to Marion's bedroom. Professor Rigaud joined me, and a few minutes later Dr. Fell. Professor Rigaud asked me to go downstairs, to sterilize a hypodermic and do some other things in the kitchen. When I got to the kitchen, the time was twenty minutes to two. There's a big clock on the wall, and I remember noticing it.”
Hadley nodded. “So the time of the shot, roughly, was round about half-past one or a little later?”
“Yes. I should think so.”
“You agree with that, Miss Seton?”
“I'm afraid”--Fay lifted her shoulders--”I simply don't remember. I never paid any attention to the time.”
“But you did
“Oh, yes. I was dozing.”
“And afterwards, I understand, you slipped upstairs and looked in at the bedroom door?--Excuse me, Miss Seton? I'm afraid I didn't quite catch that answer?”
“I said: yes.” Fay's lips shaped themselves with rounded distinctness. Something of last night's atmosphere returned to her, of heightened breathing and expression of eye.
“Your room is on the ground floor?”
“Yes.”
“When you heard this shot it the middle of the night, what made you think the noise came from upstairs? And from that room in particular?”
“Well! Soon after the shot I heard people running in the upstairs hall. Every sound carries at night.” For the first time Fay seemed honestly puzzled. “So I wondered what was wrong. I got up and put on a wrap and slippers, and lighted a lamp, and went upstairs. The door of Miss Hammond's room was wide open, and there was light inside. So I went there and peeped in.”
