Hilary had never seen James Everton, but every line of his face was most sickeningly familiar. All the newspapers in England had been full of him and his photograph a year ago when Geoffrey Grey was being tried for his murder.
Geoffrey wasn’t in the picture. That was because he was taking it, and Marion ’s smile was for him. But there was a third person, a woman leaning over the tea-table setting down a plate of scones. Like Marion, she faced the camera. She had a plate in her right hand, and she looked as if someone had just spoken to her or called her name.
Hilary gave a little gasp and said,
‘Oh, yes – that’s her!’
CHAPTER THREE
There was a pause. Hilary looked at the photograph, and Marion looked at Hilary with a faint bitter smile.
‘That is Mrs. Mercer,’ she said – ‘James’ housekeeper.’ She took the book back and laid it open on her knee. ’Geoffrey might have got off if it hadn’t been for her. Her evidence tipped the scale. She cried, you know, all the time she was giving it, and of course that went down with the jury. If she’d been vindictive or hard, it wouldn’t have hurt Geoff half as much, but when she swore with sobs that she’d heard him quarrelling with James about the will, she damned him. There was just a chance they’d believe he’d found James dead, but she finished that.’ Marion ’s voice left off on the edge of a break. After a moment she said in a curious, wondering tone, ‘I always thought she was such a nice woman. She gave me the recipe for those scones. She seemed to like me.’
Hilary was sitting back on her heels.
‘She said she’d always liked you.’
‘Then why did she do it? Why did she do it? I’ve thought myself blind and stupid, and I can’t get a glimmer of why she should have done it.’
‘Yes – why?’ said Hilary.