‘No,’ he said. ‘I almost wish she were. But she’s certainly not crazy, and I believe every word of her story is absolutely true. My dear girl, consider – she certainly hasn’t the imagination to invent it.’
The girl nodded slowly.
‘That’s true,’ she said, and added suddenly, ‘but, George you don’t really believe that those dreadful men didn’t kill Colonel Coombe?’
Abbershaw looked at her seriously.
‘I don’t see why they should, do you?’ he asked. ‘Think of it in the light of what we know.’
‘Then that means that either Albert Campion or – oh, George, it’s horrible!’
Abbershaw’s face grew even more serious.
‘I know,’ he said, and was silent for a minute or so. ‘But that is not what is worrying me at the moment,’ he went on suddenly, as though banishing the thought from his mind. ‘I’ve got you into this appalling mess, and I’ve got to get you out of it – and that, unless I’m mistaken, is Lizzie Tiddy coming up the stairs now.’
The girl held her breath, and for a moment or two they stood silent, listening. There was certainly the sound of footsteps on the stone landing outside, and the uneasy rattle of crockery on an unsteady tray. Abbershaw’s hand closed round the girl’s arm.
‘Now,’ he whispered, ‘keep behind me, and at your first opportunity nip out of here into the room immediately on your left and go straight for the chest I told you of. You can’t miss it. It’s in the corner and enormous. I’ll follow you.’