“If Miss Blacklock dies before Mrs. Goedler, two people inherit, remember. The two we know of as Pip and Emma. Julia Simmons has turned out to be Emma—”

“And you think I’m Pip?” Edmund laughed. “Fantastic—absolutely fantastic! I’m about the right age—nothing else. And I can prove to you, you damned fool, that I am Edmund Swettenham. Birth certificate, schools, university—everything.”

“He isn’t Pip.” The voice came from the shadows in the corner. Phillipa Haymes came forward, her face pale. “I’m Pip, Inspector.”

“You, Mrs. Haymes?”

“Yes. Everybody seems to have assumed that Pip was a boy—Julia knew, of course, that her twin was another girl—I don’t know why she didn’t say so this afternoon—”

“Family solidarity,” said Julia. “I suddenly realized who you were. I’d had no idea till that moment.”

“I’d had the same idea as Julia did,” said Phillipa, her voice trembling a little. “After I—lost my husband and the war was over, I wondered what I was going to do. My mother died many years ago. I found out about my Goedler relations. Mrs. Goedler was dying and at her death the money would go to a Miss Blacklock. I found out where Miss Blacklock lived and I—I came here. I took a job with Mrs. Lucas. I hoped that, since this Miss Blacklock was an elderly woman without relatives, she might, perhaps, be willing to help. Not me, because I could work, but help with Harry’s education. After all, it was Goedler money and she’d no one particular of her own to spend it on.

“And then,” Phillipa spoke faster, it was as though, now her long reserve had broken down, she couldn’t get the words out fast enough, “that hold-up happened and I began to be frightened. Because it seemed to me that the only possible person with a motive for killing Miss Blacklock was me. I hadn’t the least idea who Julia was—we aren’t identical twins and we’re not much alike to look at. No, it seemed as though I was the only one bound to be suspected.”

She stopped and pushed her fair hair back from her face, and Craddock suddenly realized that the faded snapshot in the box of letters must have been a photograph of Phillipa’s mother. The likeness was undeniable. He knew too why that mention of closing and unclosing hands had seemed familiar—Phillipa was doing it now.

“Miss Blacklock has been good to me. Very very good to me—I didn’t try to kill her. I never thought of killing her. But all the same, I’m Pip.” She added, “You see, you needn’t suspect Edmund any more.”