Weekend with Death by Patricia Wentworth Page B

know?”
    â€œYou must know—and I mean to.”
    Well, they could quarrel about that. But even a quarrel wasn’t going to stop Henry if he was really set. She said,
    â€œA bit totalitarian, aren’t you? As a matter of fact I believe it was number four—it generally is.”
    â€œThen your waiting-room was between number four and number five—is that right?”
    â€œHenry, what’s all this about?”
    â€œSarah, listen! Was there anyone in the waiting-room with you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œCan you describe her?”
    â€œI didn’t say it was a her.”
    â€œBut it was, wasn’t it?”
    â€œYes.”
    This conversation was going all wrong. She was letting him drag it out of her bit by bit. She ought to have kept the talk in her own hands. She ought.… What was the good of saying what she ought to have done? She hadn’t done it.
    â€œThere was a woman there when I went in—the sort of person you do find in waiting-rooms. I can’t imagine why you want to know.”
    â€œCan’t you? Didn’t you read your paper this morning?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œDidn’t you see that a woman had been murdered in the train between Cray Bridge and Ledlington? That train left number five platform at five minutes past six. The woman was a Miss Case, and she had been waiting for her train at Cray Bridge for the best part of an hour. The porter says there was another lady there with her most of the time—a young lady in a brown fur coat. He knows her quite well by sight, but he doesn’t know her name. The initials on her suitcases are S.M. He put her into the London train at six o’clock.”
    Sarah said in a dry, shaky voice which didn’t sound at all like her own,
    â€œWell, thank heaven for that, or I suppose they’d be saying I murdered her.”
    Henry went on implacably.
    â€œIt was you.”
    â€œYou knew that all the time! How did you know?”
    â€œThere was a police message in the nine o’clock news—that’s why I asked you if you had been listening to it. You’ll have to ring up the police at once—Ledlington 3412.”
    â€œHenry, I can’t!”
    â€œMy dear girl, you’ve got to. Don’t be silly!”
    â€œIt isn’t—you don’t understand—if I get mixed up in a police case I shall lose my job. And I can’t —because of Tinkler.”
    Henry attempted to be soothing. It was not his happiest manner.
    â€œMy dear, there’s really nothing to be afraid of.”
    â€œI am not afraid!”
    â€œThere is no reason why you should be. You have only to ring up the police and answer a few simple questions. I don’t suppose they will call you at the inquest. It is really only that you must have been one of the last people to see the poor woman. There is no question of your getting mixed up in a police case.”
    Sarah’s temper boiled over suddenly and fiercely.
    â€œThat’s all you know about it!” she said, and banged the receiver back.

CHAPTER VIII
    She had to do things to her face before she went back to the drawing-room. Even so, her colour was higher than it had any reason to be, and her eyes were much too bright. Joanna had an air of fretful impatience, but Morgan evinced an odious admiration.
    â€œWell, well, Miss Sarah, that was a good long call. Convenient things telephones, aren’t they?”
    Sarah let a cold glance slide over him. She spoke to Joanna.
    â€œIt was Mr. Cattermole. He wanted to know if I had posted some letters.”
    Morgan was slipping cards across the table. He laughed and said,
    â€œTook quite a time over it too, didn’t he?”
    Sarah’s anger had iced over. She said in her most indifferent voice,
    â€œI had a call from a friend of mine. You must have heard the bell.”
    Morgan picked up the cards.
    â€œOh, well, it’s my deal,” he