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farfetched I think, Edith,” said Mr. Waterhouse.
    â€œI should like to see anyone coming here, trying to murder me, ” said Miss Waterhouse with spirit.
    Her brother reflected to himself that it did seem highly unlikely. If he himself had been choosing a victim he would not have chosen his sister. If anyone were to attempt such a thing it was far more likely that the attacker would be knocked out by a poker or a lead doorstop and delivered over to the police in a bleeding and humiliated condition.
    â€œI just meant,” he said, the apologetic air deepening, “that there are—well—clearly undesirable characters about.”
    â€œWe don’t know very much about what did happen yet,” said Miss Waterhouse. “All sorts of rumours are going about. Mrs. Head had some extraordinary stories this morning.”
    â€œI expect so, I expect so,” said Mr. Waterhouse. He looked at his watch. He had no real desire to hear the stories brought in by their loquacious daily help. His sister never lost time in debunking these lurid flights of fancy, but nevertheless enjoyed them.
    â€œSome people are saying,” said Miss Waterhouse, “that this man was the treasurer or a trustee of the Aaronberg Institute and that there is something wrong in the accounts, and that he came to Miss Pebmarsh to inquire about it.”
    â€œAnd that Miss Pebmarsh murdered him?” Mr. Waterhouse looked mildly amused. “A blind woman? Surely—”
    â€œSlipped a piece of wire round his neck and strangled him,” said Miss Waterhouse. “He wouldn’t be on his guard, you see. Who would be with anyone blind? Not that I believe it myself,” she added. “I’m sure Miss Pebmarsh is a person of excellent character. If I do not see eye to eye with her on various subjects, that is not because I impute anything of a criminal nature to her. I merely think that her views are bigoted and extravagant. After all, there are other things besides education. All these new peculiar looking grammar schools, practically built of glass. You might think they were meant to grow cucumbers in, or tomatoes. I’m sure very prejudicial to children in the summer months. Mrs. Head herself told me that her Susan didn’t like their new classrooms. Said it was impossible to attend to your lessons because with all those windows you couldn’t help looking out of them all the time.”
    â€œDear, dear,” said Mr. Waterhouse, looking at his watch again. “Well, well, I’m going to be very late, I’m afraid. Good-bye, my dear. Look after yourself. Better keep the door on the chain perhaps?”
    Miss Waterhouse snorted again. Having shut the door behind her brother she was about to retire upstairs when she paused thoughtfully, went to her golf bag, removed a niblick, and placed it in a strategic position near the front door. “There,” said Miss Waterhouse, with some satisfaction. Of course James talked nonsense. Still it was always as well to be prepared. The way they let mentalcases out of nursing homes nowadays, urging them to lead a normal life, was in her view fraught with danger to all sorts of innocent people.
    Miss Waterhouse was in her bedroom when Mrs. Head came bustling up the stairs. Mrs. Head was small and round and very like a rubber ball—she enjoyed practically everything that happened.
    â€œA couple of gentlemen want to see you,” said Mrs. Head with avidity. “Leastways,” she added, “they aren’t really gentlemen—it’s the police.”
    She shoved forward a card. Miss Waterhouse took it.
    â€œDetective Inspector Hardcastle,” she read. “Did you show them into the drawing room?”
    â€œNo. I put ’em in the dinin’ room. I’d cleared away breakfast and I thought that that would be more proper a place. I mean, they’re only the police after all.”
    Miss Waterhouse did not quite