‘And I’ll see Miss Paula Herriard again. Send her in!’

This second summons to the morning-room apparently discomposed Paula, for she came in presently with a heightened colour, and more than her usual impetuosity. Without giving the Inspector time to speak, she demanded angrily what more he could possibly want with her. ‘I call it utter incompetence!’ she said, scorn vibrating in her voice.

The Inspector was unmoved by this stricture. Plenty of people, he reflected, when they were frightened tried to conceal it under a blustering manner. He thought, watching her restless hands and over-brilliant eyes, that Paula was decidedly frightened. ‘I should like to go over your evidence again, miss,’ he said, turning back the pages of his notebook.

‘Bright!’ she commented, with a sharp, unmirthful laugh.

He paid no heed; she didn’t even annoy him; in fact, the more she lost her temper the better pleased he would be. ‘You stated, miss, that when you went up to your room to change for dinner, you didn’t come out of it again until you joined the rest of the party in the drawing-room.’

Her eyes were fixed on him, never wavered from his face, but he thought she breathed more rapidly. ‘Well?’

‘Do you wish to add anything to that?’ asked the Inspector, giving her back look for look.

He had rattled her, just as he’d known he would. He could see the flicker of doubt in her eyes, the half-concealed alarm. He could have sworn she’d play for time, and she did, saying defensively: ‘Why should I?’

‘My information is that you were seen coming away from the deceased’s bedroom in your dressing-gown,’ he answered, at his most stolid.

He was startled by the sudden leap of flame into her eyes, the rush of colour to her cheeks. She was a dangerous piece of goods, and no mistake! he thought.

‘My God, what does this house do to people? Who’s been spying on me? Did I have a bloodstained dagger in my hand?’

He was shocked by her brutality, but although he was not an imaginative man, he thought he could readily picture her as a villainess in the kind of good old-fashioned melodrama you never seemed to see nowadays. He replied dampingly: ‘No, miss.’

‘You astonish me! Now tell me this: Was I seen coming out of my uncle’s room? Was I?’

‘Never mind asking me questions, miss, if you please! Did you go to your uncle’s room after you had gone upstairs to change for dinner?’

‘No, I didn’t. I went to the door of his room, and no further.’

‘How was that, miss?’

She jerked up one shoulder. ‘He wouldn’t let me in. I suppose he was dead.’

‘When you say he wouldn’t let you in, what do you mean?’

‘Oh my God, must you have every I dotted, and every T crossed? The door was locked; he didn’t answer when I knocked.’

‘Did you speak to him?’

‘I don’t know. Yes, I think so. I said, “It’s I, Paula,” or something of that sort. What does it matter?’