Doctor Allday produced it. The address was at a post-office, in a town on the south coast. Looking up when he had copied it, Alban saw the doctor’s eyes fixed on him with an oddly-mingled expression: partly of sympathy, partly of hesitation.
“Have you anything to suggest?” he asked.
“You will get nothing out of Miss Jethro,” the doctor answered, “unless—” there he stopped.
“Unless, what?”
“Unless you can frighten her.”
“How am I to do that?”
After a little reflection, Doctor Allday returned, without any apparent reason, to the subject of his last visit to Emily.
“There was one thing she said, in the course of our talk,” he continued, “which struck me as being sensible: possibly (for we are all more or less conceited), because I agreed with her myself. She suspects Miss Jethro of knowing more about that damnable murder than Miss Jethro is willing to acknowledge. If you want to produce the right effect on her—” he looked hard at Alban and checked himself once more.
“Well? what am I to do?”
“Tell her you have an idea of who the murderer is.”