Shelley thought that this was another occasion when brutal frankness was indicated. A little shock might make her give away further facts. And that she was hiding things which were better revealed he felt very certain. So he said: “Because those sugared almonds brought your father to his death, Miss Arnell. He was poisoned by an almond containing potassium cyanide.” This was mere guesswork, but Shelley thought he was quite safe in anticipating the findings of the medical men.

“Poisoned. How dreadful!” In despite of the words, however, she did not seem more shocked than she had been before. Her tongue seemed now to be uttering the correct sentiments unconsciously, while her mind was far away.

“Yes, poisoned, Miss Arnell,” said Shelley. “And my job—unpleasant though it may be—is to find out who poisoned him. That’s a job that you may be sure I shall carry out to the end, no matter where it may lead.”

Precisely how this conversation might have proceeded it would be difficult to say, for at this moment the telephone bell rang, and, with a brief “Excuse me,” Violet Arnell lifted the receiver.

“Hullo,” she said. “Yes. Who is that, please? Yes; I will tell him.”

She turned to Shelley, and held the receiver towards him. “It’s for you, Mr. Shelley,” she explained. “A message from Scotland Yard.”

“Thanks,” he said briefly, and spoke into the receiver. “Shelley speaking,” he snapped. “What is it? Who?” Then he paused for a moment, obviously listening to a long piece of conversation from the other end. Cunningham strained his ears, but was unable to understand a word, being able only to hear a subdued buzz.

“Yes,” said Shelley again. “Fairhurst. Yes. What? The devil he has? Who? Wilkinson? Right. I’ll be back right away.”

Cunningham and Miss Arnell sat in silence while Shelley banged down the receiver, and turned towards them, an air of almost desperate eagerness about him.

“Important information has just come through from the Yard, Miss Arnell,” he said. “I shall have to get back to London right away. I hope that if I want any more information from you I shall be able to get hold of you at any time. Shall I? Good. Then come along, Cunningham. We’ve no time to waste. Must get on without delay.”

In the High Street again, Shelley grasped Cunningham’s arm tightly. “Listen,” he said. “Wilkinson is dead. Fairhurst found it out.”

“Fairhurst?” Cunningham was amazed. “That little worm couldn’t be a murderer, surely.”