“Only kings can go into vacant spaces,” murmured Barrant’s companion, intent on the game.
The result of the game was inconclusive. A king remained surrounded by small cards, like a real monarch overwhelmed by the rabble on May Day. Mrs. Thalassa’s eyes strayed mournfully over the rows, then she gathered up the cards and shuffled them again.
“Do you know any other games of patience?” Barrant asked.
She shook her head.
“Then this is the game you were playing on that night?”
“What night?” she whispered.
“The night Mr. Turold was killed.”
“I don’t want to think of that—it frightens me.”
She remembered, then! Her face went grey, but her eyes were alert, watching his.
“Listen to me”—he spoke very gently—“I want to help you get rid of your fear and terror, but to do so I must talk to you about that night. Do you understand?”