Of the three people now, presumably, equally suspected of having murdered Nathaniel, Paula showed the most coolness. She discussed, with a cold-bloodedness worthy of Stephen, the chances of Roydon’s having done the deed, and said that, speaking from an artistic point of view, she hoped that he hadn’t, since he had a Future before him.

‘I imagine I must be out of the running,’ she said, walking about the room in her usual restless way. ‘No one could suspect me of trying to throw the blame on to my own brother! If there had been any bequests to them in Uncle’s will, I should have said that one of the servants had done it, probably Ford; but as it is they none of them had the slightest motive.’ She turned her brilliant gaze upon Mathilda, adding impulsively: ‘If one wasn’t a suspect oneself, wouldn’t it be interesting, Mathilda? I think I could actually enjoy it!’

‘Neither Joe nor I are suspects, and I can assure you we aren’t enjoying it!’ said Mathilda.

‘Oh, Joe! He’s an escapist,’ said Paula scornfully. ‘But you! You ought to be able to appreciate a situation that shows us all up in the raw!’

‘I don’t think,’ said Mathilda, ‘that I care for seeing my friends in the raw.’

‘I believe that this experience will be very valuable to me as an artist,’ said Paula.

But Mathilda had never felt less inclined to listen to a dissertation on the benefits of experience to an actress, and she very rudely told Paula to try it on the dog.

It was now nearly eleven o’clock, and all the discomforts of a morning spent in a country house with nothing to do were being suffered by Lexham’s unwilling guests. Outside, a grey sky and melting snow offered little inducement to would-be walkers; inside, a general hush brooded over the house; and everyone was uneasily aware of Scotland Yard’s presence. While suspicion had centred upon Stephen, everyone else had been ready to discuss the murder in all its aspects; now that Stephen had apparently been exonerated, and the field was left open for his successor, an uneasy shrinking from all mention of the crime was visible in everyone except Paula. Even Mrs Dean did not speak of it. She joined Maud in the morning-room presently, and, without receiving the slightest encouragement, favoured her with the story of her life, not omitting a list of her unsuccessful suitors, the personal idiosyncrasies of the late Mr Dean, and all the more repulsive details of two confinements and a miscarriage.

Roydon, who had mumbled something about getting a breath of fresh air, had gone up to his room, on leaving the breakfast-table, thus making an enemy of the second housemaid, who had only just made his bed, and wanted to bring in the vacuum-cleaner. Being a well-trained servant, she withdrew, and went off to complain bitterly to the head-housemaid about visitors who knew no better than to come up before they were wanted, putting one all behind with one’s work. The head-housemaid said it was funny, him coming up to his room at this hour; and on these meagre grounds a rumour spread rapidly through the servants’ quarters that that Mr Roydon was looking ever so queer, and behaving so strange that no one wouldn’t be surprised to hear that it was him all the time who had done in the master.