“Young Beaton, sir. He comes in a couple of days a week. But he wouldn't bring his dog with him, not into the house. There's someone here all right. I can hear him moving about.”
The Inspector pressed the bell again, and was about to press it a third time when the door was opened to them by a girl with a head of burnished copper curls, and very large and brilliant dark eyes. She was wearing a man's dressing-gown of expensive-looking brocade, which was several sizes too large for her, and was chiefly occupied in keeping back a powerful bull-terrier who did not seem to view the visitors with much favour.
“Shut up you fool!” commanded the girl. “Heel! - What on earth do you want?” This last remark was addressed in a tone of considerable surprise to the Inspector.
“Inspector Jerrold, miss, from Hanborough,” said the Inspector, introducing himself. “If convenient, I should like to have a word with you.”
She looked at him frowningly. “I don't know what you want to have a word with me about, but you can come in if you like. Get back, Bill!”
The two men followed her into a square hall, decorated in a modernist style, with curtains and a carpet of cubist design, a number of tubular steel chairs, and a squat table of limed oak. The girl saw Constable Dickenson blink at it and said with a flickering smile: “You needn't think I did it.” The Constable looked at her rather quickly, involuntarily startled. “You'd better come into the kitchen. I haven't finished breakfast. The scenery's better too.” She strolled ahead of them through a door at the end of the hall into a pleasant kitchen with a tiled floor, a homely-looking dresser, and a breakfast of eggs and coffee and toast spread at one end of the large table. An electric cooker stood at one end of the room, and a small electric brazier had been attached by a long flex to the light fixture, and was switched on for the purpose of drying a linen skirt which was hung over a chair-back in front of it. The Inspector, pausing on the threshold, cast a swift, trained glance round the room. His gaze rested for a moment on the damp skirt, and travelled to the girl. She walked round the table, picking up a slice of half-eaten toast and butter from her plate in a casual way as she passed, and pulled a chair forward. “Sit down, won't you? I warn you, I shan't make any statement till I've seen my solicitor.” She looked up as she spoke, and raised her brows. “Joke,” she explained.
The Inspector smiled politely. “Yes, miss, naturally. Might I ask if you are staying here?”
“God, no!”
The Inspector glanced at the brocade dressing-gown, and looked inquiring.
“Quite right, I spent the night here,” said the girl coolly. “Anything else you'd like to know?”