“Of course I do. I’ve never seen it before.”

Nash said quietly: “I must tell you, Miss Griffith, that you were observed to type that letter on the machine at the Women’s Institute between eleven and eleven thirty p.m. on the night before last. Yesterday you entered the post office with a bunch of letters in your hand—”

“I never posted this.”

“No, you did not. Whilst waiting for stamps, you dropped it inconspicuously on the floor, so that somebody should come along unsuspectingly and pick it up and post it.”

“I never—”

The door opened and Symmington came in. He said sharply: “What’s going on? Aimée, if there is anything wrong, you ought to be legally represented. If you wish me—”

She broke then. Covered her face with her hands and staggered to a chair. She said:

“Go away, Dick, go away. Not you! Not you!”

“You need a solicitor, my dear girl.”

“Not you. I—I—couldn’t bear it. I don’t want you to know—all this.”

He understood then, perhaps. He said quietly:

“I’ll get hold of Mildmay, of Exhampton. Will that do?”

She nodded. She was sobbing now.

Symmington went out of the room. In the doorway he collided with Owen Griffith.

“What’s this?” said Owen violently. “My sister—”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Griffith. Very sorry. But we have no alternative.”

“You think she—was responsible for those letters?”

“I’m afraid there is no doubt of it, sir,” said Nash—he turned to Aimée, “You must come with us now, please, Miss Griffith—you shall have every facility for seeing a solicitor, you know.”

Owen cried: “Aimée?”

She brushed past him without looking at him.

She said: “Don’t talk to me. Don’t say anything. And for God’s sake don’t look at me!”

They went out. Owen stood like a man in a trance.

I waited a bit, then I came up to him. “If there’s anything I can do, Griffith, tell me.”

He said like a man in a dream:

“Aimée? I don’t believe it.”

“It may be a mistake,” I suggested feebly.

He said slowly: “She wouldn’t take it like that if it were. But I would never have believed it. I can’t believe it.”

He sank down on a chair. I made myself useful by finding a stiff drink and bringing it to him. He swallowed it down and it seemed to do him good.

He said: “I couldn’t take it in at first. I’m all right now. Thanks, Burton, but there’s nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do.”

The door opened and Joanna came in. She was very white.

She came over to Owen and looked at me.

She said: “Get out, Jerry. This is my business.”

As I went out of the door, I saw her kneel down by his chair.

III