He Who Whispers by John Dickson Carr

o’clock, just before Mr Brooke returned from the bank with that money in his brief-case. You see, I can tell you … oh, I told the police so often afterwards! … all the times. I meant to go for a dip in the river, so I took along a bathing-suit. But instead I simply wandered along the river-bank.’
    Fay paused.
    â€˜When I left that house, Mr Hammond,’ – she uttered a strange, far-off kind of laugh – ‘it was outwardly a very peaceful house. Georgina Brooke, that’s Harry’s mother, was in the kitchen speaking to the cook. Harry was upstairs in his room writing a letter. Harry – poor fellow! – wrote once a week to an old friend of his in England, named Jim Morell.’
    Miles sat up.
    â€˜Just a minute, Miss Seton!’
    â€˜Yes?’
    And now she did lift her eyes, with a quick blue glance, startled, as though she were suddenly wondering.
    â€˜Was this Jim Morell,’ asked Miles, ‘any relation to a girl named Barbara Morell?’
    â€˜Barbara Morell. Barbara Morell.’ She repeated it, and the momentary interest died out of her face. ‘No, I can’t say I have any knowledge of the girl. Why do you ask?’
    â€˜Because … nothing at all! It doesn’t matter.’
    Fay Seton smoothed at her skirt, as though earnestly occupied in choosing just what words to say. She seemed to find it a delicate business.
    â€˜I don’t know anything about the murder!’ she exclaimed, with delicate insistence. ‘Over and over I told the police so afterwards! At just before three o’clock I went for a stroll along the river-bank, northwards, and far beyond the tower.
    â€˜You’ve undoubtedly heard what was happening in the meantime. Mr Brooke returned from the bank and looked for Harry. Since Harry was by that time in the garage instead of his room, Mr Brooke walked slowly out of the house to keep his appointment with me – miles ahead of time, really! – at the tower. Shortly afterwards Harry learned where he had gone, and snatched up his raincoat and followed Mr Brooke. Mrs Brooke phoned to Georges Rigaud, who drove out there in his car.
    â€˜At half-past three … I knew that by my wrist-watch … I thought it was time for me to stroll back towards the tower, and I went inside. I heard voices talking from the direction of the roof. As I started up the stairs I recognized the voices of Harry and his father.’
    Fay moistened her lips.
    To Miles it seemed, by the subtle alteration in her tone, that she used by force of habit – sincerely, yet glibly – a series of words made familiar to her by repetition.
    â€˜No, I did not hear what they were talking about. It is simply that I dislike unpleasantness, and I would not remain. In going out of the tower I met Monsieur Rigaud, who was going in. Afterwards … well! I went for my dip after all.’
    Miles stared at her.
    â€˜For a swim in the river?’
    â€˜I felt hot and tired. I believed it would cool me. I undressed in the woods by the river, as many persons do. This was not near the tower; it was well away from the tower, northwards, on the west bank. I swam and floated and dreamed in the cool water. I did not know anything was wrong until I was walking back home at a quarter to five. There was a great clamour of people round the tower, with policemen among them. And Harry walked up to me, putting out his hands, and said, “My God, Fay, somebody’s killed Dad.”’
    Her voice trailed away.
    Putting up a hand to shade her eyes, Fay shielded her face well. When she looked at Miles again, it was with a wistful and apologetic smile.
    â€˜Please do forgive me!’ she said, giving her head that little sideways toss which made the dim yellow light ripple across her hair. ‘I lived it again, you see. It’s a habit lonely people have.’
    â€˜Yes. I know.’
    â€˜And that’s the limit of my knowledge,