"I don't know whether I ought to ask it." Miss Gilchrist's hands
began to shake and she tried to steady her voice. "But would it be
possible not to - to mention the circumstances - or even the name?"
Susan stared.
"I don't understand."
"That's because you haven't thought, Mrs Banks. It's murder. A
murder that's been in the papers and that everybody has read about.
Don't you see? People might think. 'Two women living together, and one
of them is killed - and perhaps the companion did it.' Don't you see,
Mrs Banks?
I'm sure that if I was looking for someone, I'd - well, I'd think
twice before engaging myself - if you understand what I mean. Because
one never knows! It's been worrying me dreadfully, Mrs Banks; I've been
lying awake at night thinking that perhaps I'll never get another job -
not of this kind. And what else is there that I can do?"
The question came out with unconscious pathos. Susan felt suddenly
stricken. She realised the desperation of this pleasant-spoken
commonplace woman who was dependent for existence on the fears and whims
of employers. And there was a lot of truth in what Miss Gilchrist had
said. You wouldn't, if you could help it, engage a woman to share
domestic intimacy who had figured, however innocently, in a murder case.
Susan said: "But if they find the man who did it -"
"Oh then, of course, it will be quite all right. But will they find
him? I don't think, myself, the police have the least idea. And if he's
not caught - well, that leaves me as - as not quite the most likely
person, but as a person who could have done it."
Susan nodded thoughtfully. It was true that Miss Gilchrist did not
benefit from Cora Lansquenet's death but who was to know that? And
besides, there were so many tales - ugly tales - of animosity arising
between women who lived together - strange pathological motives for
sudden violence. Someone who had not known them might imagine that Cora
Lansquenet and Miss Gilchrist had lived on those terms...
Susan spoke with her usual decision.
"Don't worry, Miss Gilchrist," she said, speaking briskly and
cheerfully. "I'm sure I can find you a post amongst my friends. There
won't be the least difficulty."
"I'm afraid, said Miss Gilchrist, regaining some of her customary
manner, "that I couldn't undertake any really rough work. Just a little
plain cooking and housework -"
The telephone rang and Miss Gilchrist jumped.
"Dear me, I wonder who that can be."
"I expect it's my husband," said Susan, jumping up. "He said he'd ring me tonight."
She went to the telephone.
"Yes? - yes, this is Mrs Banks speaking personally..."
There was a pause and then her voice changed. It became soft and
warm. "Hallo, darling - yes, it's me... Oh, quite well... Murder by
someone unknown... the usual thing... Only Mr Entwhistle... What?...
it's difficult to say, but I think so... Yes, just as we thought...
Absolutely according to plan... I shall sell the stuff. There's nothing
we'd want... Not for a day or two... Absolutely frightful... Don't fuss.
I know what I'm doing... Greg, you didn't... You were careful to... No,
it's nothing. Nothing at all. Good night, darling."
She rang off. The nearness of Miss Gilchrist had hampered her a
little. Miss Gilchrist could probably hear from the kitchen, where she
had tactfully retired, exactly what went on. There were things she had
wanted to ask Greg, but she hadn't liked to.
She stood by the telephone, frowning abstractedly. Then suddenly an idea came to her.
"Of course," she murmured. "Just the thing."
Lifting the receiver she asked for Trunk Enquiry.
Some quarter of an hour later a weary voice from the exchange was saying:
"I'm afraid there's no reply."
"Please go on ringing them."
Susan spoke autocratically. She listened to the far off buzzing of a
telephone bell. Then, suddenly it was interrupted and a man's voice,
peevish and slightly indignant, said:
"Yes, yes, what is it?"
"Uncle Timothy?"
"What's that? I can't hear you."
