Inspector Craddock stood near the door. Facing him, almost in a row, were the three women. Julia and Mrs. Swettenham on the sofa. Mrs. Easterbrook on the arm of her husband’s chair. He had not brought about this arrangement, but it suited him very well.

Miss Blacklock and Miss Hinchcliffe were crouching over the fire. Edmund stood near them. Phillipa was far back in the shadows.

Craddock began without preamble.

“You all know that Miss Murgatroyd’s been killed,” he began. “We’ve reason to believe that the person who killed her was a woman. And for certain other reasons we can narrow it down still more. I’m about to ask certain ladies here to account for what they were doing between the hours of four and four-twenty this afternoon. I have already had an account of her movements from—from the young lady who has been calling herself Miss Simmons. I will ask her to repeat that statement. At the same time, Miss Simmons, I must caution you that you need not answer if you think your answers may incriminate you, and anything you say will be taken down by Constable Edwards and may be used as evidence in court.”

“You have to say that, don’t you?” said Julia. She was rather pale, but composed. “I repeat that between four and four-thirty I was walking along the field leading down to the brook by Compton Farm. I came back to the road by that field with three poplars in it. I didn’t meet anyone as far as I can remember. I did not go near Boulders.”

“Mrs. Swettenham?”

Edmund said, “Are you cautioning all of us?”

The Inspector turned to him.

“No. At the moment only Miss Simmons. I have no reason to believe that any other statement made will be incriminating, but anyone, of course, is entitled to have a solicitor present and to refuse to answer questions unless he is present.”

“Oh, but that would be very silly and a complete waste of time,” cried Mrs. Swettenham. “I’m sure I can tell you at once exactly what I was doing. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Shall I begin now?”

“Yes, please, Mrs. Swettenham.”

“Now, let me see.” Mrs. Swettenham closed her eyes, opened them again. “Of course I had nothing at all to do with killing Miss Murgatroyd. I’m sure everybody here knows that. But I’m a woman of the world, I know quite well that the police have to ask all the most unnecessary questions and write the answers down very carefully, because it’s all for what they call ‘the record.’ That’s it, isn’t it?” Mrs. Swettenham flashed the question at the diligent Constable Edwards, and added graciously, “I’m not going too fast for you, I hope?”

Constable Edwards, a good shorthand writer, but with little social savoir faire, turned red to the ears and replied: