She gave a chuckle. "Yes, wouldn't you love me to pour my girlish confidences into your ears? It's all right: I'm going to. If you're toying with the notion that my sister may have been the murderess, I can put you right straight away. Setting aside the fairly evident fact that she simply hasn't got it in her to smash anyone's head in, there wasn't a trace of blood on her frock or her cloak when she came home that night. If you want me to believe that she could have done the deed, and not got one drop of blood on her, you'll have to hypnotise me. Of course, I don't expect you to pay much heed to what I say, because I'm bound to stand by my sister, but you can interrogate her personal maid, can't you? She'll tell you that none of my sister's clothes have disappeared, or have been sent to the cleaners' during the past week." She paused, extracted the end of her cigarette from the holder, and stubbed it out. "But, as I see it, you don't really think she did it. The man you suspect is my brother-in-law, and I'm sure I don't blame you. Only there again I may be able to help you. You can take it from me that he doesn't know of the existence of those IOUs. I've no doubt that sounds a trifle fatuous to you, but it happens to be true. And -just in case you haven't grasped this one - he doesn't suspect my sister of having had any what-you-might-call improper dealings with Ernest Fletcher." She stopped, and looked critically at him. "I'm not making a hit with you at all. Why not? Don't you believe me?"
"Yes, I believe you're telling me whatyou believe to be the truth," he answered. "But it is just possible that you don't know the whole truth. If - for the sake of argument - your brother-in-law is the man I'm looking for, it must be obvious to you that he wouldn't give anything away, even to you."
"That's perfectly true," conceded Sally fair-mindedly. "But there's one other point: my brother-in-law's no fool. If he'd done it, he'd have taken darned good care to have covered up his tracks." She frowned suddenly, and began to fit another cigarette into her holder. "Yes, I see there's a snag there. You think that he meant to, but that Helen's getting mixed up in it gummed up the works. You may be right, but if I were you I wouldn't bank on it."
At my job," said Hannasyde, "one learns not to bank on anything."
He turned, for the door had opened, and Helen had come into the room. She looked tired, and rather strained, but greeted him quite calmly. "Good-afternoon. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I was lying down."
"I'm sorry to be obliged to disturb you, Mrs. North," he replied, "but there are one or two points in your evidence which I want to go over with you again."
She moved to a chair by the fireplace. "Please sit down. I can't tell you anything more than I have, but, of course, I'll answer any questions you want to ask me."
He took a seat beside a table near her, and laid on it his notebook. "I am going to be perfectly frank with you, Mrs. North, for I think it will save a great deal of time and misunderstanding if you know what facts are in my possession. Now, the first thing I am going to tell you is that I have proof that a certain man, who need not concern you much, since it is in the highest degree unlikely that you have ever heard of him, visited Ernest Fletcher at some time during the evening on which he was murdered."
Her eyes were fixed upon his face with an expression in them of painful anxiety, but she merely said in a low voice: "No doubt he was the man I saw. Go on, please."
He opened his notebook. "I am going to read to you, Mrs. North, the sequence of events, between the hours of 9.35 and 10.05, according to your own evidence, and to that of the Constable who discovered F'letcher's body. If I have got any of the times wrong, you must stop me. To begin with, at 9.35 you arrived at the side entrance of Greystones. You noticed a short, stout man come out of the gate, just before you reached it, and walk away towards Vale Avenue."