The Listening Eye by Patricia Wentworth Page B

tulips into a jar. She was a plain young woman, but the way the light came slanting through the window to touch the tulips and her smooth fair hair had an astonishing beauty. It had not occurred to her before that light could be painted, but it occurred to her now. Her comment to that effect certainly pleased Lucius Bellingdon. He went on talking, showed her a flower piece which she admired very much, and then all at once he was being addressed with some gravity.
    “Mr. Bellingdon, may I take this opportunity of asking you to add to the information you have already given me?”
    He showed some slight surprise, but no more than was natural.
    “Why, certainly. What is it you want to know?”
    “In the course of conversation Miss Bray mentioned that you had a house-party during this last week-end.”
    “Yes, there were people here—there generally are at the week-end.”
    “Quite so. But on this occasion, so shortly before the theft of the necklace and the murder of Mr. Hughes, I should be very interested to hear anything that you can tell me about your guests.”
    He looked at her sharply.
    “I don’t see—”
    “I think you must, Mr. Bellingdon. I do not know just when you decided to withdraw your necklace from the County Bank, but I imagine that all the details were already decided upon at the time of this week-end party. You informed me that you had communicated them to the manager in writing, and since Tuesday was the day for the withdrawal it seems probable that your letter would have been posted on the Saturday or Sunday. Therefore any leakage of information on the subject would be likely to have occurred during that time.”
    “It was posted on the Sunday.”
    His tone was one of displeasure. It was by no means Miss Silver’s first experience of being invited to an investigation which subsequently proved very little to the taste of the person who had invited her. She looked steadily at Lucius Bellingdon and said,
    “This is not pleasant for you, is it? Before we go any farther I should like to say that I appreciate your position. It is still for you to choose whether you really wish me to go on with the case. The police have it in hand, and there is no need for you to retain my services. It is still open to me to return to town and relieve you of the embarrassment of having introduced an enquiry agent into your private family circle. But what I must make quite clear to you is this. The course I have proposed is possible now, but it may not be possible tomorrow. It could, in fact, become impossible at any moment.”
    He was frowning deeply.
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean that at present I feel myself at liberty to withdraw, but if I continue on the case I am not, and could not be, prepared to hush anything up. The case is one of murder. Anything that throws light upon the murderer’s identity will be, and must be, at the disposal of the police. I am saying to you what I feel it my duty to say to any client. I cannot go into an investigation with the object of proving anyone guilty or anyone innocent. I can only go into it with the object of discovering the truth and serving the ends of justice.”
    He walked a little way from her, looked fixedly at a lowering seascape, and so remained for a slow minute or two. When he came back, she saw that he had made up his mind. He said,
    “Well, I like to do business with someone who doesn’t beat about the bush, and you don’t do that. If there has been a leakage, I’m bound to trace it. It could have occurred through nothing worse than a tongue too loosely hung—I suppose you realize that.”
    She inclined her head.
    “You wish me to remain here?”
    He said “Yes—” in a considering tone. Then, more firmly, “Yes, I do. There is such a thing as any sort of certainty being better than not knowing where you are. If there’s a worm in a board I like to know it and have it out before it lets me through and I break my ankle—or my neck. And that being