Sidney Grice's lips curled.

*How splendid it is to be compared to an idiotic fantasy from the scribblings of a colonial lunatic,' he said, *especially as he has obviously read of my achievements and made a clumsy attempt to emulate them.'

He had a curious gait, I noticed, dipping to the right, though he seemed to have no trouble mounting another flight of stairs.

The second floor had two bedrooms, his at the front and the one to be mine, facing a red-brick hospital building. Between them was a small room.

*The pride of my house.' Sidney Grice stepped aside to show me the bathroom. The fittings were indeed splendid, a white-enamelled bath on clawed bra.s.s feet, a white porcelain sink on a tall fluted pedestal and a matching water closet with a high cistern. *We have running water, cold and hot, as long as Molly keeps the stove alight.'

*What luxury.' I did not tell him how unsavoury I thought it to have a closet in the house. Little wonder one heard accounts of so much pestilence in London if all houses were so unhygienically equipped.

The top floor was an attic, he explained, which contained a box room and the servants' quarters.

*How many servants do you keep?'

*I only have Molly and a cook. The cook does not live in and keeps to her kitchen. I do not believe I have seen her since she had the impertinence to offer me seasonal greetings on Christmas Day two years ago. The occasional scullery maid comes and goes, I am told, but they are of no interest to me.' He paused. *Clearly Molly is not yet returned. It seems we must answer the summons of that doorbell ourselves.'

*I did not hear anything,' I said, and Sidney Grice clicked his tongue.

*Your ears are younger and probably more sensitive than mine. You hear but you do not listen. The call is obviously urgent to judge from the rapid tugging at the pull. Let us stand quietly for a moment, then tell me what you hear.'

*Should we not answer the door first?' I asked, but Sidney Grice shrugged and said, *An urgent caller will always wait. Listen.'

We stood together in the corridor and far away I heard a bell, small and sharp, repeatedly clinking.

*I hear it now.'

*What else?'

I listened. *Nothing.'

*Do you not hear the traffic outside, the rattle of wheels, the clop of hooves on cobbles, the cries of hawkers and mendicants in the street, the flutter of pigeons on the roof, the west wind drawing across the chimney tops?'

I listened harder. *I hear a faint hubbub,' I said, *and the bell is getting frantic.'

*A bell is inanimate and can no more be frantic than it could formulate an algebraic theorem.' Sidney Grice scrutinized a small ink stain on his little finger. *But it would seem that our visitor is.'

We made our way back down the stairs.

*See to the door,' he said, and went into his study.

The lady to whom I answered the door was tall and elegant, with finely carved features white as limestone, though her cheeks were a little flushed as if by exertion. In her early forties, I estimated, she was well, though not richly, dressed in black and her hair was dark brown, neatly pinned under a simple hat with a gauze trim hanging just over her eyes.

*Is this Mr Grice's house?' She was struggling for breath.

*It is.'

*I must see your master.' She was clearly in a state of great agitation.

*I have no master,' I said, but took her through.

Sidney Grice was pretending to browse through a geological journal, but stood up from his armchair and ushered our visitor into the chair facing his across the unlit fireplace. I stood in the middle of the room, uncertain whether to stay or go.

*You cannot know how glad I am to see you.' The woman arranged herself. *I have heard it told many a time that you are really a fictional character.'

Sidney Grice's neck reddened a little and his cheek ticked; he put his hand to his right eye.

*The blame for that lies in the luridly inaccurate reportage of my cases by cheap periodicals,' he said. *As you can see for yourself, madam, I am here before you in flesh and blood.'

The lady put her hands over her mouth and nose. She had a ruby ring on the third finger of her right hand.

*There was so much blood,' she said.

I looked at her green eyes. They were wide with horror, and I looked at Sidney Grice and, though it was not possible, it seemed that both of his were shining.

5.

Horrible Murder *It is too horrible.' Mrs Dillinger caught her breath. *My poor daughter.' She swallowed. *Stabbed... stabbed to death and my son-in-law arrested for her murder. You must help me, Mr Grice.'

Sidney Grice sighed. *I am under no such obligation, madam. But, since you are here and I am bored, what is your name and those of the people involved?'

*I am Mrs Grace Dillinger.'

*I a.s.sume you are a widow.'

*Yes, my husband died two months ago.'

*And left you with child?'

*Yes. It is expected in August.'

Sidney Grice waved his hand. *Continue.'

*My son-in-law is William Ashby. His wife, my daughter is-'

*Was,' Sidney Grice corrected her.

*Was Sarah.'

Sidney Grice took a small brown leather-bound notebook from the table by his chair and jotted the details on the first page with a silver pencil, as Mrs Dillinger reached into her handbag and brought out a rectangular white envelope. Her nails, I noticed, were neatly clipped and she wore a heavy rose-gold wedding band twined with a fine black thread.

*William has written you a note.' She held it out and Sidney Grice took it as if it were soiled, flicked the envelope open, withdrew a twice-folded sheet of paper and let it fall into his lap with little more than a glance.

*What evidence is there against your son-in-law?' he asked.

*None at all.' Mrs Dillinger knotted her slender fingers.

*Then he has no more to fear than I,' he told her, *for there is no evidence against me either.'

Mrs Dillinger pulled on the lapel of her coat.

*He was in the house at the time,' she said, *but he was asleep in the next room.'

*Is he a heavy sleeper?'

*Quite the reverse. He usually wakes at the slightest noise. It was the sound of a door opening and closing that disturbed him.'

*Which door?'

*The outer door of the shop at the front of the house. It has a bell which sounds when the top of the door strikes it.'

She was lightly perfumed with Damask.

Sidney Grice toyed with his signet ring. *Is the bell suspended on a hinge or a coiled spring?'

Mrs Dillinger touched her forehead with the fingertips of her right hand and the ruby glinted darkly.

She said, *What? A hinge, I suppose. What does it matter?'

My guardian observed her for a moment. *A hinged bell sounds but twice whereas a sprung bell makes a repeated clatter, on average five to seven double clangs, depending upon the force with which the door strikes it.'

Mrs Dillinger composed herself. *I see.'

*But nothing until then?'

*No.'

*And where was your son-in-law?'

*In the back room. The kitchen.'

Her boots had been well cleaned and blacked, but were splattered with fresh drops of mud.

*And your daughter?'

*The middle room. Their sitting room.'

*And these rooms are confluent?'

*Yes.'

Her clothes were well made but old. They had been repaired in places and obviously dyed for her mourning period, as the original floral pattern was still just discernible.

*With no other access to the middle room? A window perhaps or a skylight?'

*No. None.'

Sidney Grice leaned towards her.

*So your lightly sleeping son-in-law slumbered through the brutal slaying of his wife only a few feet away?'

Mrs Dillinger stood up suddenly and caught hold of the mantlepiece.

*Really, Mr Grice,' I said and stepped towards her, but Sidney Grice signalled me to stay back.

*Was there any blood on your son-in-law's clothes?'

*He was covered in it.' Mrs Dillinger closed her eyes. *He took her into his arms.'

Her voice was barely audible and she was breathing heavily.

*And she was already dead?'

*Yes. I think so.' Her voice rose suddenly. *I do not know.'

Sidney Grice wrote something else in his book. He had a small scar on his right ear, I noticed.

*And n.o.body else was in the house at the time?'

*No. No one.'

Sidney Grice looked at her for a while.

*Where were you when all this was going on?' he asked.

*In church.'

*On a Monday night?'

*There was a meeting of the Society for the Conversion of Heathen Children in Africa.'

*There is no shortage of those in London,' Sidney Grice said. *Was your daughter happily married?'

Mrs Dillinger broke into sobs and Sidney Grice tapped his teeth with the pencil. His teeth were clean and straight.

*How can you put her through this?' I asked.

*This is nothing compared to what the police and prosecution will ask of her and her son-in-law.'

*I thought you were supposed to be on my side,' Mrs Dillinger said.