The house was quiet that week, with Maud shut away in those big rooms of hers, with Tony alternating between business and the search for Evans, and even Pierre, limited now to nurses’ trays and food largely uneaten by the rest of us, sulking in his kitchen. Down on the river the dragging for Evans’s body was going on, without success, and search in the hills had been abandoned.

One day James, the head groom, asked me if I cared to ride one of the horses, and I asked Tony about it that night. To my surprise he refused. “They haven’t been out for weeks,” he said. “I wouldn’t trust you on them, Pat. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I’ve ridden all my life.”

“I know. Nice tame horses. These are different.”

I was indignant. I’d shown hunters at the valley horse show off and on for years, so the next day I took out Prince. James smiled grimly when I mounted.

“Take him easy at first, miss. You’ll do all right. I’ve seen you ride.”

I did all right, despite an inclination of Prince’s to regard a twittering squirrel as a deadly menace and the bit as something to be shifted, if possible. It was a hard ride, but it was good to be in breeches and boots again. I was almost cheerful when, coming back from the stables that day, I found Bessie in the hall.

She eyed me. “Always the outdoor girl!” she said. “Well, I hate horses like the devil, but it might be better than this.”

“Better than what?”

“Better than this mausoleum. Someday I’m going to give that redheaded grass-Hopper a shock and beat it for New York.” She watched me as I lit a cigarette. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she said. “You and Tony both. I rather spoil the little affair, don’t I?”

She turned then to a mirror and began to go over her make-up. But not before I had seen something she did not expect me to see. Her bag was open on the table, and inside it was a small pearl-handled revolver.

Chapter Eighteen

IT WAS THAT NIGHT, the eighth of October, that Bill Sterling was arrested.

It happened soon after he had made his evening call on Maud at the Cloisters. I saw him in the lower hall that night, and I thought he looked better. After all, the disappearance of Evans must have relieved him, for he had been operating in the hospital when Evans vanished, and after that he had taken one of the interns out on a country call. They got back at three in the morning, and had coffee and scrambled eggs in one of the floor kitchens before Bill drove home.

He greeted me cheerfully. “Hello, Pat,” he said. “How’s everything here?”

“We’re doing as well as could be expected. I hear the village has picked on Tony for the criminal.”

“Don’t let that bother you. The police haven’t. They still have an eye on me.”