The Blind Side by Patricia Wentworth Page A

shiver went over her.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?”
    â€œPeter—when you said that—it sounded so nice and ordinary. Do you think we shall ever get back to being nice and ordinary again?”
    â€œI hope so,” said Peter.

CHAPTER XVI
    Miss Bingham came in with little tripping steps. Her head was poked forward and her eyes went here, there and everywhere. They had taken up the rug in the hall and washed the parquet. Such a relief. And in here, where poor Mr. Craddock’s body had lain in that shocking pool of blood—yes, that rug was gone too. And the parquet did really cover the whole of the floor. She had always wondered about that, because it might have been just a surround, and Lucy Craddock, who ought to have known, never seemed to be sure about it or take any interest. Even in her cradle Miss Bingham had always taken an interest in everything.
    She sat and preened herself in the chair which Detective Abbott set for her. She had dressed as carefully as if she were going to a wedding or a bazaar, the two most exciting social events within her orbit. But this was far more exciting than either. Everyone went to bazaars and weddings, but to be an important witness in a sensational murder case was something to distinguish one for ever.
    She wore her best dress, a brown artificial silk with rather a bright zigzag orange pattern, and she had put on a new hair-net. She was very proud of the fact that mere was so little grey in her hair. There wasn’t very much of it, but back-combed and well fluffed up under the net it could be made the best of, and it was still a very good dark brown. Under the fuzzy fringe and the rather marked dark eyebrows, Miss Bingham’s eyes were as sharp and bright and restless as a squirrel’s, and her cheeks as hard and red as August apples. There were a great many inquisitive lines about the eyes, and two very heavy ones running down from the nose to the chin. It was these lines which gave the upper lip a rather jutting appearance. About her neck Miss Bingham wore a long gold chain which had been her father’s watchchain, and a string of bog-oak beads which had belonged to her mother.
    She sat on the edge of her chair, and gave her name as Wilhelmina Ethel Bingham, unmarried. She occupied flat No. 12, immediately over Miss Mary Craddock’s flat.
    â€œThat is to say, Inspector, it was Miss Mary Craddock’s flat. A very dear friend of mine—a very dear friend indeed, and a most patient sufferer. An example to us all, I’m sure—”
    â€œQuite so,” said the Inspector. “Mr. Renshaw is now occupying the flat.”
    Miss Bingham bridled.
    â€œI could hardly fail to be aware of that . All the years I have lived above Miss Craddock I never had to complain about a sound, but from the time Mr. Renshaw came in it has been a very different story.”
    â€œNoisy—eh?” said the Inspector.
    Miss Bingham slightly closed her eyes.
    â€œWould you believe me if I were to tell you that he throws his boots across the room, positively throws them, every night when he takes them off— and several times during the day.”
    â€œVery disturbing,” said the Inspector. “Well now, Miss Bingham, I can see you’re a lady that notices things. What I want to know is whether you noticed anything unusual last night.”
    â€œIndeed I did, Inspector—and I can only say that, shocking as it all is, I am not surprised. Over and over again I have said both to Lucy and to Mary Craddock that what was going on in this house was a scandal—right under their noses too. Over and over again I’ve said that something would happen if it went on. Why, I’ve even thought of moving—after being here ten years—so that will show you how I’ve felt about it.”
    The Inspector cleared his throat.
    â€œAbout last night, Miss Bingham—”
    â€œYes, yes—oh, yes. But we must take