"Well, she wasn't discreet," said Mr Guthrie. "Cora was never
discreet. And she enjoyed - how shaw I put it - showing how sharp she
could be?
Like a child who's got hold of somebody's secret. If Cora got hold
of a secret she'd want to talk about it. Even if she promised not to,
she'd still do it. She wouldn't be able to help herself."
Susan did not speak. Miss Gilchrist did not either. She looked worried. Mr Guthrie went on:
"Yes, a little dose of arsenic in a cup of tea - that would not
have surprised me, or a box of chocolates by post. But sordid robbery
and assault - that seems highly incongruous. I may be wrong but I should
have thought she had very little to take that would be worth a
burglar's while. She didn't keep much money in the house, did she?"
Miss Gilchrist said, "Very little."
Mr Guthrie sighed and rose to his feet.
"Ah! well, there's a lot of lawlessness about since the war. Times have changed."
Thanking them for the tea he took a polite farewell of the two
women. Miss Gilchrist saw him out and helped him on with his overcoat.
From the window of the sitting-room, Susan watched him trot briskly down
the front path to the gate.
Miss Gilchrist came back into the room with a small parcel in her hand.
"The postman must have been while we were at the inquest. He pushed
it through the letter-box and it had fallen in the corner behind the
door. Now I wonder - why, of course, it must be wedding cake."
Happily Miss Gilchrist ripped off the paper. Inside was a small white box tied with silver ribbon.
"It is!" She pulled off the ribbon, inside was a modest wedge of
rich cake with almond paste and white icing. "How nice! Now who -" She
consulted the card attached. "John and Mary. Now who can that be?
How silly to put no surname."
Susan, rousing herself from contemplation, said vaguely:
"It's quite difficult sometimes with people just using Christian
names. I got a postcard the other day signed Joan. I counted up I knew
eight Joans - and with telephoning so much, one often doesn't know their
handwriting."
Miss Gilchrist was happily going over the possible Johns or Marys of her acquaintance.
"It might be Dorothy's daughter - her name was Mary, but I hadn't
heard of an engagement, still less of a marriage. Then there's little
John Banfield - I suppose he's grown up and old enough to be married -
or the Enfield girl - no, her name was Margaret. No address or anything.
Oh well, I dare say it will come to me..."
She picked up the tray and went out to the kitchen.
Susan roused herself and said:
"Well - I suppose I'd better go and put the car somewhere."
