Flamborough intervened as she paused for a moment.
"Your maid was away that night? Then you’ve got no one else who could give evidence that Dr. Silverdale was with you during that crucial period?"
Avice seemed to see a fresh gulf opening before her.
"No," she admitted, with a faint tremor in her voice. "We were quite alone. No one saw us go into the house and no one saw him leave it."
"H’m!" said Flamborough. "Then it rests on your own evidence entirely? There’s no confirmation of it?"
"What confirmation do you need?" Avice demanded. "Dr. Silverdale will tell you the same story. Surely that’s sufficient?"
Before Flamborough could make any comment on this, Sir Clinton turned the interview back to its original subject.
"I should like to be clear about the other matter first, if you please, Miss Deepcar. With regard to this police raid on your house, as you called it, can you tell me something more about it? For instance, you say that I produced my card. Was that card preserved?"
"No," Avice admitted. "My maid tells me that you only showed it to her; you didn’t actually hand it over to her."
"Then anybody might have presented it?"
"No," Avice contradicted him. "My maid recognised you. She’d seen your photograph in a newspaper once, some months ago, and she knew you from that."
"Ah! Indeed! Can you produce this maid? She’s not out of town at present or anything like that?"
"I can produce her in a few moments," Avice retorted with obvious assurance. "She’s waiting for me somewhere in this building at the present time."
Sir Clinton glanced at Flamborough and the Inspector retired from the room. In a very short time he returned, bringing with him a middle-aged woman, who glanced inquisitively at Sir Clinton as she entered.
"Now, Marple," Avice Deepcar demanded, "do you recognise anyone here?"
Mrs. Marple had no hesitation in the matter.
"That’s Sir Clinton Driffield, Miss. I know his face quite well."
Flamborough’s suspicion that his superior had been moving in the background of the case were completely confirmed by this evidence; but he was still further surprised to catch a gleam of sardonic amusement passing across the face of the Chief Constable.
"You recognise me, it seems?" he said, as though half in doubt as to what line to take. "You won’t mind my testing your memory a little? Well, then, what kind of suit was I wearing when I came to your house?"
Mrs. Marple considered carefully for a moment or two before replying:
"An ordinary suit, sir; a dark one rather like the one you’ve got on just now."
"You can’t recall the colour?"
"It was a dark suit, that’s all I can remember. You came in the evening, sir, and the light isn’t good for colours."
"You didn’t notice my tie, or anything like that?"
"No, sir. You’ll remember that I was put about at the time. You gave me a shock, coming down on me like that. It’s the first time I ever had to do with the police, sir; and I was all on my nerves’ edge with the idea that you’d come after Miss Avice, sir. I couldn’t hardly get to believe it, and I was all in a twitter."
Sir Clinton nodded sympathetically.
"I’m sorry you were so much disturbed. Now have a good look at me where the light’s bright enough. Do you see anything that strikes you as different from the appearance I had that night?"
He moved across to the window and stood patiently while Mrs. Marple scanned him up and down deliberately.
"You haven’t got your eyeglass on to-day, sir."
"Ah! Did you say eyeglass or eyeglasses?"
"Eyeglass, sir. I remember you dropped it out of your eye when you began to read Miss Avice’s letters."
"Apart from the eyeglass, then, I’m much the same?"
"You’ve got quit of your cold now, sir. You were quite hoarse that night you came to the house—as if you’d got a touch of sore throat or something like that."
"That’s true. I’ve no cold now. Anything more?"
Mrs. Marple subjected him to another prolonged scrutiny.
"No, sir. You’re just like you were that night."
"And you recognised me from some newspaper portrait, it seems?"
"Yes, sir. I saw your picture in the evening paper once. It was just a head-and-shoulders one; but I’d have recognised you from it even if you hadn’t shown me your card."
Sir Clinton reflected for a moment.
"Can you remember what was on that card?" he asked.
Mrs. Marple consulted her memory.
"It said: ‘Sir Clinton Driffield (and some letters after the name), Chief Constable.’ Then in the left-hand corner was the address: ‘Police Headquarters, Westerhaven.’ "
Sir Clinton caught Flamborough’s eye and they exchanged glances. The Inspector had little difficulty in seeing that his first impression had been wrong. It was not the Chief Constable who had ransacked Avice Deepcar’s house.
Sir Clinton took out his card-case and handed a card to Mrs. Marple.
"It wasn’t that card I showed you, was it?"
Mrs. Marple scanned the card for a moment.
"Oh, no, sir. This one reads quite different."
Sir Clinton nodded and took back the card.
"I think that’s really all I want to know, Mrs. Marple. Perhaps Inspector Flamborough may want to ask you a question or two later on."
Avice Deepcar seemed by no means satisfied at this close to the interview.
"That’s all very fine, Sir Clinton," she said, "but you seem to think you’ve satisfied me. You haven’t. You can’t invade my house in this way and then pass the whole thing off as if it were part of your routine. And you can’t carry away a pile of my private letters and keep them without my consent. I insist on having them back. If you don’t, I’ll see my solicitor at once about the matter. And may I remind you again that you owe me some apology for your proceedings?"
Sir Clinton seemed in no way ruffled.
"Of course I apologise for anything I’ve done which may have inconvenienced you, Miss Deepcar. I’m quite sincere in saying that I very much regret that you should have been worried in this way. Nothing that I have done has been meant to throw any suspicion on you, I can assure you. As to the letters, I think your best plan will be to consult your solicitor as you suggest. Ask him to ring me up at once, and I’ll try to settle the matter as soon as we can. I’ve no wish to cause you any trouble—none whatever."
Avice glanced suspiciously from him to the Inspector. It was evident that this solution did not satisfy her; but obviously she realised that nothing would be gained by attempting to argue the point.
"Very well," she said at last, "I’ll go straight to my solicitor now. You’ll hear from him very shortly."
Sir Clinton held the door open for her and she passed out of the room, followed by Mrs. Marple. After a few seconds, the Chief Constable turned to Flamborough.
"What do you make of it all, Inspector?"
"Well, sir, that Mrs. Marple seems to me honest enough, but not very bright."
Sir Clinton nodded in assent.
"She recognised her visitor from his resemblance to some blurred newspaper portrait; and she recognised me from my resemblance to her visitor. That’s your idea?"