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confidential.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said flatly. “I can’t help you.”
    Aylmer didn’t actually call her a liar, but looked as if he restrained himself with an effort.
    â€œVery well.” He could be cold and aloof; he was. “If you change your mind, kindly let me know.” He turned his broad shoulder towards her, massive and almost menacing; then he turned back sharply: “Have you had any association with a man named Mannering? John Mannering?”
    Joanna hesitated.
    â€œMiss Woburn,” Aylmer said quite nastily, “it will greatly facilitate matters if you will answer my questions.”
    That made her angry; less because of the question than the manner.
    She was tired out; the encounter with Merrow hadn’t been pleasant, and the task of freeing his and the dog’s feet had exhausted her. She didn’t know that she was suffering from a form of delayed shock. Her head was aching, she wanted to get away somewhere quiet; and she wanted this big, boorish man to stop asking questions.
    â€œThe only time I’ve heard of a Mr. John Mannering was by letter, just after I came here,” she said stiffly. “He wrote to Mr. Garfield on business.”
    â€œAh! What business?”
    â€œThat you must ask Mr. Garfield,” said Joanna abruptly. “Now, unless there is anything else of importance, I must go.”
    He didn’t answer at once; just looked at her, as if willing her to tell him more. She wished desperately that he would leave; she felt that if he continued to question her, even to stand and stare, she would scream.
    â€œHas Mr. Garfield ever told you that he was worried about an attempt on his life?”Aylmer demanded abruptly.
    That took her so much by surprise that it strengthened her; and her astonishment must have shown clearly, because Aylmer’s manner changed, and obviously he had his answer before she said:
    â€œGood heavens, no!”
    â€œIf you should have the slightest indication that Mr. Garfield is worried, or in any kind of danger, please let me know at once,” Aylmer said formally.
    Before she answered, he was out of the room.
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Chapter Four
Night
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    It was a miserable evening. Joanna ate alone. Afterwards she expected Garfield to send for her, but no summons came. Usually she ate with George Merrow, and sometimes Garfield ate with them; invariably all three had coffee together. Now there was the quietness of unuttered fear. George, with that mauled leg, was likely to be in hospital for weeks. At this moment he was undoubtedly under morphia, perhaps on the operating table. The massive Aylmer, with his innuendo; Priscilla, with her pathetic little story – and the bullet.
    It was dark.
    The dining-room was huge, and only the lights at one end were on. If she was going to have to eat alone very often, it would be better to be in her own room; she usually had breakfast there. She stood up and went to the window. It was quite dark outside, but the curtains weren’t drawn; Jimmy Garfield liked plenty of light to shine out; and as she stood by a tall arched window, looking through the distorting thickness of the glass into the darkness broken only near the house, she realised something that she hadn’t before.
    He was afraid of the dark.
    Nothing seemed to move outside. She was staring in the direction of the copse, where so much had happened. Above all, she wished that the policeman hadn’t talked about the possibility of danger to the old man.
    What danger could there be?
    Why had Garfield seemed so worried when she had gone in, earlier in the evening?
    She went out of the dining-room. Gedde, who had waited at the table, came in at the other end of the room. It was warm in the high rooms and the lofty hall. She went to the front door, opening the small door set in the massive wooden double doors with their huge iron bolts. A breeze, coming off the downs, made it seem almost cool. She