House in Charlton Crescent by Annie Haynes Page B

about nervously. She bit her lip now.
    â€œNo, thank you! After all I do not know that I will ring up Madame Benoit. I do not know that there is any real need.”
    â€œOh, but I have always been told that a lady’s appointment with her dressmaker was most important,” the inspector said. “Madame Benoit, you said.” He paused with the receiver in his hand. “The address, please.”
    Miss Fyvert paused a minute, but the inspector’s gimlet-like eyes were filed upon her.
    â€œ17 Clonnell Street, off Wigmore Street,” she said with a little laugh. “Really, inspector, you are a very determined man. I don’t wonder the criminal classes are afraid of you.”
    â€œI hope they are,” the inspector said grimly. “Here. Why, we have been lucky enough to get on at once. Now, Miss Fyvert.”
    He handed her the receiver and waited while she gave her few directions about a dress that did not fit, and made an appointment for some alterations. Then she put down the receiver with a hand that visibly trembled.
    â€œThank you very much, Inspector Furnival. If I had known your telephone arrangements I would not have disturbed you.”
    The inspector smiled faintly.
    â€œIt has been no trouble, Miss Fyvert. I am glad I happened to be here,” he said truthfully. “I have been looking for an opportunity of having a few words with you. Perhaps you could spare me a few minutes now?”
    The girl’s white face turned scarlet, slowly, painfully.
    â€œI do not think can stay this morning,” she faltered. “I have to go to this terrible inquest and then my little sister is not well. I am very anxious about her. I cannot think what is the matter with her.”
    â€œI am sorry to hear that.” The inspector placed a chair for her and something about his gaze compelled her to take it. “But children are often up and down. I have six at home so ought to know. As for the inquest, I am anxious to have a few words with you before that.”
    â€œThe—the inquest?” Dorothy faltered. “But that is this morning. I really do not see—”
    â€œOh, there will be plenty of time before the inquest,” the inspector said easily. He had placed her chair so that she faced the window, and now he stood opposite so that he, though in the shadow himself, got the light full upon her. “There is sure to be a crowd there—at the inquest, I mean—and it would not be wondered at if a young lady like yourself lost her head a little. So I thought if you and I had a talk first it might make things easier for you.”
    â€œBut I can’t tell them anything!” the girl exclaimed wildly, clasping her hands closely together. “I was in the room when Aunt Anne was—when she died, but I did not see anything. I could not tell them anything.”
    The inspector coughed.
    â€œIn a case like this, we have to look at the matter all round. And first and foremost there is the question of motive. There were five people in the room—”
    â€œFive people!” Dorothy interrupted him. “Six, you mean, for you surely cannot omit the man at the window?”
    The inspector accepted the correction. 
    â€œSix, then. Of course you saw this sixth—the man at the window—yourself, Miss Fyvert?”
    â€œWell, I can’t say exactly,” Dorothy said honestly. “I was at the tea-table, and was so amazed to see Soames drop the cakes that I was looking at him, and only had the most casual glance at something moving at the window. Also, of course, everybody made a rush for the window, so that they got between.”
    â€œAnd you saw and heard nothing else?” the inspector said sharply.
    â€œWell, I have told myself since that it must have been a mistake,” Dorothy said doubtfully. “But I did fancy at the time that I heard a soft eerie laugh.”
    â€œAh! You did?” the inspector’s