By four o’clock that afternoon every pool in the district was similarly guarded, including our own in the playhouse. For by that time the result of the autopsy had been made public. Donald Morgan had died by drowning. There was water in his lungs, and his body being found as it was, the presumption was certainly murder.

It was Tony who brought us this last news. Bessie had not appeared, having sent word she was resting, and Maud and I had passed the long hours together in my room. Tony had called us when the body was found; then he joined the group of unofficial searchers who were helping the police to look for Lydia’s car. Where he was when he telephoned the verdict that Don had been murdered I do not know.

“Probably knocked out first and then dropped into somebody’s pool to drown,” he said. “That’s Conway’s idea, anyhow. Gruesome thought, isn’t it?”

He came back soon after that, looking tired. He had had no lunch, and Maud sent for some. I had managed to get downstairs by that time, with the aid of Thomas and Stevens, and we were in the court when he came. I remember how peaceful it was there that day, the water from the fountain dripping softly, Maud concerned for Lydia but otherwise welcoming the peace of Bessie’s absence, and Tony eating hungrily while he talked.

I even remember getting up and walking a few steps to show the extent of my recovery. Then Reynolds came in to announce the arrival of a guard to watch our pool, and suddenly the whole tragedy was close to us.

“Our pool!” Maud said. “But the playhouse is always locked. Did you tell him that?”

Reynolds looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, madam. I found it unlocked just now. It has been used recently. There are damp towels around. I thought perhaps Mr. Tony had been using it.”

Tony glanced up quickly. “Haven’t been near it for days, Reynolds.”

Maud looked unhappy. “What do you mean by used, Reynolds? Not—the pool.”

“I’m afraid it is the pool, madam. There is water on the tiles. The guard is telephoning Mr. Conway from the library.”

So there we were, tied up with poor Don’s murder in spite of ourselves. I don’t think any of us moved for a minute or two. Reynolds was standing by looking important, and filled with that peculiar repressed pleasure with which all servants seem to bring bad news. Then Maud stirred and Tony was on his feet.

“Don’t worry, Mother,” he said. “It doesn’t mean a thing. Maybe Bessie was down there.”

But Bessie had not been there. She appeared just then, and Maud told her the whole story. I think none of us were prepared for the way she took it. She turned a sort of greenish-white and dropped into a chair.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her lips stiff. “I haven’t been well today. It’s a shock. Any murder is a shock, isn’t it?”