Mr Quin went on. ‘You’ve got a proof that that watch wasn’t smashed in Sir James’s pocket. You can’t smash a watch like that without opening the case. Just try it and see. Someone took the watch out and opened it, set back the hands, smashed the glass, and then shut it and put it back. They never noticed that a fragment of glass was missing.’

‘Oh!’ cried Mr Satterthwaite. His hand flew to his waistcoat pocket. He drew out a fragment of curved glass.

It was his moment.

‘With this,’ said Mr Satterthwaite importantly, ‘I shall save a man from death.’

Next to a Dog

Next to a Dog

I

The ladylike woman behind the Registry Office table cleared her throat and peered across at the girl who sat opposite.

‘Then you refuse to consider the post? It only came in this morning. A very nice part of Italy, I believe, a widower with a little boy of three and an elderly lady, his mother or aunt.’

Joyce Lambert shook her head.

‘I can’t go out of England,’ she said in a tired voice; ‘there are reasons. If only you could find me a daily post?’

Her voice shook slightly–ever so slightly, for she had it well under control. Her dark blue eyes looked appealingly at the woman opposite her.

‘It’s very difficult, Mrs Lambert. The only kind of daily governess required is one who has full qualifications. You have none. I have hundreds on my books –literally hundreds.’ She paused. ‘You have someone at home you can’t leave?’

Joyce nodded.

‘A child?’

‘No, not a child.’ And a faint smile flickered across her face.

‘Well, it is very unfortunate. I will do my best, of course, but–’

The interview was clearly at an end. Joyce rose. She was biting her lip to keep the tears from springing to her eyes as she emerged from the frowsy office into the street.

‘You mustn’t,’ she admonished herself sternly. ‘Don’t be a snivelling little idiot. You’re panicking–that’s what you’re doing–panicking. No good ever came of giving way to panic. It’s quite early in the day still and lots of things may happen. Aunt Mary ought to be good for a fortnight anyway. Come on, girl, step out, and don’t keep your well-to-do relations waiting.’

She walked down Edgware Road, across the park, and then down to Victoria Street, where she turned into the Army and Navy Stores. She went to the lounge and sat down glancing at her watch. It was just half past one. Five minutes sped by and then an elderly lady with her arms full of parcels bore down upon her.

‘Ah! There you are, Joyce. I’m a few minutes late, I’m afraid. The service is not as good as it used to be in the luncheon room. You’ve had lunch, of course?’