She cast a quick glance up at him and took the paper.
She did not speak for several moments, but presently she said in a level voice, not raising her eyes from the paper. "I don't quite understand. You say this was found on Sir Arthur's desk -"
"I believe it to have been written after he was stabbed, Mrs. Twining. Does it convey anything to you?"
Her eyelids just flickered, another woman less self-controlled, he suspected, might have winced. "No," she said deliberately, and held the paper out to him. The look of amusement had vanished from her face. "It conveys nothing to me. I am sorry." She watched him fold it again and put it back in his pocket-book. She seemed to hesitate on the brink of speech, and finally asked: "Do you feel it to be of importance, Inspector?"
"I don't know, Mrs. Twining. I had hoped that you might be able to enlighten me."
"It appears to be a very ordinary word, of no particular significance," she said. "The start of a sentence, I imagine." She rose, and repeated: "I am sorry. It is a pity Sir Arthur had time only to write that one word. Is there anything else you wished to ask me?"
"Nothing else," Harding answered. "I'm afraid I've taken up your time to no purpose."
She moved over to the bell and pressed it. "Not at all," she said politely. "I only regret that I am unable to help you." She glanced fleetingly towards him. "What is your own theory, Inspector? Or have you none?"
"No doubt it is, as you say, the start of a sentence," he replied.
The butler came into the room, holding open the door. Harding took his leave of Mrs. Twining and went away, back to the police station at Ralton, where he found the Superintendent and Sergeant Nethersole awaiting him.