"And then?"

"And then quite suddenly there was a shot. As I told you, it seemed to go right past my ear. The cornmissionaire man who stands outside the hotel came running down towards me and he pushed me behind him and then-then-the other shot came… He- he fell down and I screamed." She was shaking now. Her mother spoke to her.

"Steady, girl," said Bess in a low, firm voice. "Steady now." It was the voice Bess Sedgwick used for her horses and it was quite as efficacious when used on her daughter. Elvira blinked at her, drew herself up a little, and became calm again.

"Good girl," said Bess.

"And then you came," said Elvira to Father. "You blew your whistle, you told the policeman to take me into the hotel. And as soon as I got in, I saw-I saw Mother." She turned and looked at Bess Sedgwick.

"And that brings us more or less up to date," said Father. He shifted his bulk a little in the chair.

"Do you know a man called Ladislaus Malinowski?" he asked. His tone was even, casual, without any direct inflection. He did not look at the girl, but he was aware, since his ears were functioning at full attention, of a quick little gasp she gave. His eyes were not on the daughter but on the mother.

"No," said Elvira, having waited just a shade too long to say it. "No, I don't."

"Oh," said Father. "I thought you might. I thought he might have been here this evening."

"Oh? Why should he be here?"

"Well, his car is here," said Father. "That's why I thought he might be."

"I don't know him," said Elvira.

"My mistake," said Father. "You do, of course?" He turned his head towards Bess Sedgwick.

"Naturally," said Bess Sedgwick. "Known him for many years." She added, smiling slightly, "He's a madman, you know. Drives like an angel or a devil-he'll break his neck one of these days. Had a bad smash eighteen months ago."

"Yes, I remember reading about it," said Father. "Not racing again yet, is he?"

"No, not yet. Perhaps he never will."

"Do you think I could go to bed now?" asked Elvira, plaintively. "I'm-really terribly tired."

"Of course. You must be," said Father. "You've told us all you can remember?"

"Oh, yes."

"I'll go up with you," said Bess.

Mother and daughter went out together.

"She knows him all right," said Father.

"Do you really think so?" asked Sergeant Wadell.

"I know it. She had tea with him in Battersea Park only a day or two ago."

"How did you find that out?"

"Old lady told me-distressed. Didn't think he was a nice friend for a young girl. He isn't, of course."

"Especially if he and the mother-" Wadell broke off delicately. "It's pretty general gossip-"

"Yes. May be true, may not. Probably is."

"In that case which one is he really after?"

Father ignored that point. "I want him picked up. I want him badly," he said. "His car's here-just round the corner."

"Do you think he might be actually staying in this hotel?"

"Don't think so. It wouldn't fit into the picture. He's not supposed to be here. If he came here, he came to meet the girl. She definitely came to meet him, I'd say."

The door opened and Bess Sedgwick reappeared.

"I came back," she said, "because I wanted to speak to you." She looked from him to the other two men. "I wonder if I could speak to you alone? I've given you all the information I have, such as it is; but I would like a word or two with you in private."

"I don't see any reason why not," said Chief Inspector Davy. He motioned with his head, and the young detective constable took his notebook and went out. Wadell went with him. "Well?" said Chief Inspector Davy.

Lady Sedgwick sat down again opposite him.

"That silly story about poisoned chocolates," she said. "It's nonsense. Absolutely ridiculous. I don't believe anything of the kind ever happened."

"You don't, eh?"

"Do you?"

Father shook his head doubtfully. "You think your daughter cooked it up?"

"Yes. But why?"

"Well, if you don't know why," said Chief Inspector Davy, "how should I know? She's your daughter. Presumably you know her better than I do."

"I don't know her at all," said Bess Sedgwick bitterly. "I've not seen her or had anything to do with her since she was two years old, when I ran away from my husband."

"Oh yes. I know all that. I find it curious. You see, Lady Sedgwick, courts usually give the mother, even if she is a guilty party in a divorce, custody of a young child if she asks for it. Presumably then you didn't ask for it? You didn't want it."

"I thought it-better not."

"Why?"

"I didn't think it was-safe for her."

"On moral grounds?"

"No. Not on moral grounds. Plenty of adultery nowadays. Children have to learn about it, have to grow up with it. No. It's just that I am not really a safe person to be with. The life I'd lead wouldn't be a safe life. You can't help the way you're born. I was born to live dangerously. I'm not law-abiding or conventional. I thought it would be better for Elvira, happier, to have a proper English conventional bringing-up. Shielded, looked after…"

"But minus a mother's love?"

"I thought if she learned to love me it might bring sorrow to her. Oh, you mayn't believe me, but that's what I felt."

"I see. Do you still think you were right?"

"No," said Bess. "I don't. I think now I may have been entirely wrong."

"Does your daughter know Ladislaus Malinowski?"

"I'm sure she doesn't. She said so. You heard her."

"I heard her, yes."

"Well, then?"

"She was afraid, you know, when she was sitting here. In our profession we get to know fear when we meet up with it. She was afraid-why? Chocolates or no chocolates, her life has been attempted. That tube story may be true enough-"

"It was ridiculous. Like a thriller-"

"Perhaps. But that sort of thing does happen, Lady Sedgwick. Oftener than you'd think. Can you give me any idea who might want to kill your daughter?"

"Nobody-nobody at all!"

She spoke vehemently.

Chief Inspector Davy sighed and shook his head.

Chief Inspector Davy waited patiently until Mrs. Melford had finished talking. It had been a singularly unprofitable interview. Cousin Mildred had been incoherent, unbelieving, and generally feather-headed. Or that was Father's private view. Accounts of Elvira's sweet manners, nice nature, troubles with her teeth, odd excuses told through the telephone, had led on to serious doubts whether Elvira's friend Bridget was really a suitable friend for her. All these matters had been presented to the Chief Inspector in a kind of general hasty pudding. Mrs. Melford knew nothing, had heard nothing, had seen nothing and had apparently deduced very little.

A short telephone call to Elvira's guardian Colonel Luscombe had been even more unproductive, though fortunately less wordy. "More Chinese monkeys," he muttered to his sergeant as he put down the receiver. "See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.

"The trouble is that everyone who's had anything to do with this girl has been far too nice-if you get my meaning. Too many nice people who don't know anything about evil. Not like my old lady."

"The Bertram's Hotel one?"

"Yes, that's the one. She's had a long life of experience in noticing evil, fancying evil, suspecting evil, and going forth to do battle with evil. Let's see what we can get out of girl friend Bridget."

The difficulties in this interview were represented first, last, and most of the time by Bridget's mamma. To talk to Bridget without the assistance of her mother took all Chief Inspector Davy's adroitness and cajolery. He was, it must be admitted, ably seconded by Bridget. After a certain amount of stereotyped questions and answers and expressions of horror on the part of Bridget's mother at hearing of Elvira's narrow escape from death, Bridget said, "You know it's time for that committee meeting, Mum. You said it was very important."