“But it happened to hit the bull’s eye,” said Joanna. “After all, she wouldn’t have killed herself otherwise, would she?”

Griffith said doubtfully:

“I’m not quite sure. She’s been ailing in health for some time, neurotic, hysterical. I’ve been treating her for a nervous condition. It’s possible, I think, that the shock of receiving such a letter, couched in those terms, may have induced such a state of panic and despondency that she may have decided to take her life. She may have worked herself up to feel that her husband might not believe her if she denied the story, and the general shame and disgust might have worked upon her so powerfully as to temporarily unbalance her judgment.”

“Suicide whilst of unsound mind,” said Joanna.

“Exactly. I shall be quite justified, I think, in putting forward that point of view at the inquest.”

“I see,” said Joanna.

There was something in her voice which made Owen say:

“Perfectly justified!” in an angry voice. He added, “You don’t agree, Miss Burton?”

“Oh yes, I do,” said Joanna. “I’d do exactly the same in your place.”

Owen looked at her doubtfully, then moved slowly away down the street. Joanna and I went on into the house.

The front door was open and it seemed easier than ringing the bell, especially as we heard Elsie Holland’s voice inside.

She was talking to Mr. Symmington who, huddled in a chair, was looking completely dazed.

“No, but really, Mr. Symmington, you must take something. You haven’t had any breakfast, not what I call a proper breakfast, and nothing to eat last night, and what with the shock and all, you’ll be getting ill yourself, and you’ll need all your strength. The doctor said so before he left.”

Symmington said in a toneless voice:

“You’re very kind, Miss Holland, but—”

“A nice cup of hot tea,” said Elsie Holland, thrusting the beverage on him firmly.

Personally I should have given the poor devil a stiff whisky and soda. He looked as though he needed it. However, he accepted the tea, and looking up at Elsie Holland:

“I can’t thank you for all you’ve done and are doing, Miss Holland. You’ve been perfectly splendid.”

The girl flushed and looked pleased.

“It’s nice of you to say that, Mr. Symmington. You must let me do all I can to help. Don’t worry about the children—I’ll see to them, and I’ve got the servants calmed down, and if there’s anything I can do, letterwriting or telephoning, don’t hesitate to ask me.”

“You’re very kind,” Symmington said again.

Elsie Holland, turning, caught sight of us and came hurrying out into the hall.

“Isn’t it terrible?” she said in a hushed whisper.

I thought, as I looked at her, that she was really a very nice girl. Kind, competent, practical in an emergency. Her magnificent blue eyes were just faintly rimmed with pink, showing that she had been softhearted enough to shed tears for her employer’s death.

“Can we speak to you a minute,” asked Joanna. “We don’t want to disturb Mr. Symmington.”