"Now, mind!" he insisted. "That don't necessarily mean she's dead. But I'm bound to admit…"
"Yes. Exactly."
All of them were silent for a time. In that thick, muggy day, occasional sunlight glimmered on the collection of old weapons hung round the library walls. H.M. scowled still more.
"Any other evidence you've dug up?"
Masters turned to another page.
"Hurrum! To carry on. After a lot of trouble with the bank, we've looked up the financial positions of everybody concerned. And. there's nothing there either to help us or surprise us.
"Arthur Fane's will, as I think I told you, leaves everything unconditionally to his wife, and to selected charities if anything happens to her. He's the only Fane in the firm of Fane, Fane & Randall; his father died a long time ago, and his mother in 1929. His estate consists of the house in Fitzherbert Avenue, which he owns; a little life insurance; and, when things are settled up, about two thousand in cash. Not much of a haul for Mrs. Fane there."
Phil Courtney sat up.
"Hoy!" he protested.
Both the others blinked at him.