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The photographs interested Susan, but she laid them aside, sorted all the papers she had found into a heap and began to go through them methodically. About a quarter way through she came on a letter. She read it through twice and was still staring at it when a voice speaking behind her caused her to give a cry of alarm.

 

"And what may you have got hold of there, Susan? Hallo, what's the matter?"

 

Susan reddened with annoyance. Her cry of alarm had been quite involuntary and she felt ashamed and anxious to explain.

 

"George? How you startled me!"

 

Her cousin smiled lazily.

 

"So it seems."

 

"How did you get here?"

 

"Well, the door downstairs was open, so I walked in. There seemed to be nobody about on the ground floor, so I came up here. If you mean how did I get to this part of the world, I started down this morning to come to the funeral."

 

"I didn't see you there?"

 

"The old bus played me up. The petrol feed seemed choked. I tinkered with it for some time and finally it seemed to clear itself. I was too late for the funeral by then, but I thought I might as well come on down. I knew you were here."

 

He paused and then went on:

 

"I rang you up, as a matter of fact - and Greg told me you'd come down to take possession, as it were. I thought I might give you a hand."

 

Susan said, "Aren't you needed in the office? Or can you take days off whenever you like?"

 

"A funeral has always been a recognised excuse for absenteeism. And this funeral is indubitably genuine. Besides, a murder always fascinates people. Anyway, I shan't be going much to the office in future - not now that I'm a man of means. I shall have better things to do."

 

He paused and grinned, "Same as Greg," he said.

 

Susan looked at George thoughtfully. She had never seen much of this cousin of hers and when they did meet she had always found him rather difficult to make out.

 

She asked, "Why did you really come down here, George?"

 

"I'm not sure it wasn't to do a little detective work. I've been thinking a good deal about the last funeral we attended. Aunt Cora certainly threw a spanner into the works that day. I've wondered whether it was sheer irresponsibility and auntly joie de vivre that prompted her words, or whether she really had something to go upon. What actually is in that letter that you were reading so attentively when I came in?"

 

Susan said slowly, "It's a letter that Uncle Richard wrote to Cora after he'd been down here to see her."

 

How very black George's eyes were. She'd thought of them as brown but they were black, and there was something curiously impenetrable about black eyes. They concealed the thoughts that lay behind them.

 

George drawled slowly, "Anything interesting in it?"

 

"No, not exactly..."

 

"Can I see?"

 

She hesitated for a moment, then put the letter into his outstretched hand.

 

He read it, skimming over the contents in a low monotone.

 

"Glad to have seen you again after all these years... looking very well... had a good journey home and arrived back not too tired..."

 

His voice changed suddenly, sharpened:

 

"Please don't say anything to anyone about what I told you. It may be a mistake. Your loving brother, Richard."

 

He looked up at Susan. "What does that mean?"

 

"It might mean anything... It might be just about his health. Or it might be some gossip about a mutual friend."

 

"Oh yes, it might be a lot of things. It isn't conclusive - but it's suggestive... What did he tell Cora? Does anyone know what he told her?"

 

"Miss Gilchrist might know," said Susan thoughtfully. "I think she listened."

 

"Oh, yes, the Companion help. Where is she, by the way?"

 

"In hospital, suffering from arsenic poisoning."

 

George stared.

 

"You don't mean it?"

 

"I do. Someone sent her some poisoned wedding cake."

 

George sat down on one of the bedroom chairs and whistled.

 

"It looks," he said, "as though Uncle Richard was not mistaken."

 

III

 

On the following morning Inspector Morton called at the cottage.

 

He was a quiet middle-aged man with a soft country burr in his voice. His manner was quiet and unhurried, but his eyes were shrewd.

 

"You realise what this is about, Mrs Banks?" he said. "Dr Proctor has already told you about Miss Gilchrist. The few crumbs of wedding cake that he took from here have been analysed and show traces of arsenic."

 

"So somebody deliberately wanted to poison her?"

 

"That's what it looks like. Miss Gilchrist herself doesn't seem able to help us. She keeps repeating that it's impossible - that nobody would do such a thing. But somebody did. You can't throw any light on the matter?"

 

Susan shook her head.

 

"I'm simply dumbfounded," she said. "Can't you find out anything from the postmark? Or the handwriting?"

 

"You've forgotten - the wrapping paper was presumably burnt. And there's a little doubt whether it came through the post at all. Young Andrews, the driver of the postal van, doesn't seem able to remember delivering it. He's got a big round, and he can't be sure - but there it is - there's a doubt about it."

 

"But - what's the alternative?"

 

"The alternative, Mrs Banks, is that an old piece of brown paper was used that already had Miss Gilchrist's name and address on it and a cancelled stamp, and that the package was pushed through the letter box or deposited inside the door by hand to create the impression that it had come by post."