"No. Of course not." She turned as Pritchard came into the hall from the servants' wing and said as quietly as she could: "Master Timothy has told me, Pritchard. How did it happen? Have you any idea?"

The butler looked very much shaken. "They found him at the foot of the cliff, miss. Just where the path runs along the edge. He must have missed his way in the fog. You'll excuse me, miss, but I'm a bit upset. I do not know when I have been so upset. To think of us lying in our beds with the poor master smashed up like that on those wicked rocks! Not that one could have done anything. If only he hadn't gone out! That's what I keep on saying to myself, over and over. It'll just about kill the mistress, this will."

Miss Allison returned a mechanical answer. She did not think that Mrs. Kane was of the weak stuff to be killed by shock, or even by grief, but the task of breaking the news of Silas' death to her was not one to which she looked forward. After a moment's reflection she decided to postpone it until Emily had had her breakfast and with this end in view went off in search of Ogle.

It was a point of honour with Ogle always to disagree with Miss Allison, of whom she was profoundly jealous, but her adoration of Emily made her on this occasion acquiesce in Patricia's decision. In acquiescing, however, she took the opportunity to tell Patricia that she knew Emily far better than anyone else did and could a.s.sure the anxious that Emily would bear up under this shock as well as she had borne up under all the other shocks incident in a long life.

She was right. When Miss Allison, standing beside Emily's bed, said: "I have some very bad news for you, Mrs. Kane," Emily looked her over piercingly and rapped out: "Well, don't beat about the bush! What is it?"

Patricia told her. Emily made no outcry, shed no tear. Only her face seemed to set more rigidly, and her eyes to become fixed upon some object beyond Patricia's vision. Her thin hands, their fingers bent with gout, lay motionless upon the quilt; she did not speak for some moments, but at last she brought her gaze to bear upon Miss Allison's face and said harshly: "What are you waiting for? Is there anything else?"

"No, Mrs. Kane. Would you like me to go away?"

Emily smiled wryly. "I suppose you want to stroke my hand and tell me to have a good cry?"

"No, I don't," replied Patricia frankly. "It is my business to do exactly what you wish. Only you must tell me what that is, because I've never faced this situation before, and I don't know what to do."

"Good girl!" approved Emily. "I dare say you think I'm a heartless old woman, eh? When you reach my age you'll know that death doesn't mean so much as you think it does now. Go downstairs and make yourself useful." She paused, and for the first time Patricia saw a twinge of some emotion contract her features. "Clement," she said. "Yes. Clement."

Miss Allison nodded. "Of course. I'll ring him up immediately."

Emily looked at her with rather a curious expression in her face. "He'll come here," she said. "He and that wife of his."

"You need not see either of them, Mrs. Kane."

Emily was shaken with sudden anger: "You little fool, I shall have Clement here for the rest of my life!"

"I hadn't thought of that," admitted Patricia. "Still, if you can't bear the idea of living in the same house with him, you could always have a house of your own, couldn't you?"

Emily's eyes narrowed. "You think I'm going to be turned out of the house that has been mine for over sixty years, do you? Well, I'm not! When I leave it, it will be in my coffin, that I promise you!"

Miss Allison, from what she knew of Clement Kane, thought it extremely unlikely that he would make the least attempt to dislodge his great-aunt, but she wisely refrained from saying this and instead went away to inform him of the tragedy.

She found Timothy downstairs, awaiting her, Silas' death had shocked him into a silence which had lasted throughout breakfast, but he seemed now to be restored to his normal self, though he apparently thought it proper to speak in lowered tones. While Patricia talked to Clement Kane on the telephone he stood watching her with a portentous frown on his brow, and as she put down the receiver he said in a voice fraught with suspicion: "I say, Miss Allison, will there be an inquest?"

"I suppose so," replied Patricia.

"Ah!" said Timothy with deep meaning. "Well, do you know what I think?"

"Yes," said Patricia.

"What, then?" demanded Timothy, put out.

"You have a sort of instinct that Mr. Kane was murdered," said Patricia calmly.

Timothy was disconcerted and said rather lamely: "Well, I have. What's more, I bet I'm right.

Don't you think I'm probably right? Honestly, Miss Allison, don't you?"

"No," said Patricia. "And if I were you, I wouldn't talk about it any more. It sounds silly."

This damping rejoinder offended Timothy so much that he walked away, informing a Jacobean chair that some people (unspecified) didn't seem to be able to see what was under their noses and would look pretty silly themselves when the truth was discovered.

CHAPTER THREE.

Clement Kane, very gently laying the receiver down, sat for a minute or two without moving. To Miss Allison he had uttered conventional exclamations of surprise and distress, but when their brief conversation was ended, neither surprise nor distress was discernible in his face. It was singularly expressionless. He sat looking at the telephone and presently drew a long, slow breath. He got up and felt in his pocket for his cigarette case, selected and lit a cigarette, and walked across the room to put the dead match tidily in an ashtray. He stood smoking for several minutes, then he stubbed out the cigarette, gave his cuffs a twitch, and walked upstairs to his wife's room.

Rosemary always breakfasted in bed. She said that she knew she was quite unbearable in the morning, and as she saw no possibility of improving, it was really more sensible to segregate herself in her own room. Clement found her with the remains of her breakfast thrust on one side and a large box of carnations lying across her knees. He did not permit himself to look at these for more than a second; he knew who must have sent them, but it would be beneath his dignity, besides provoking a nerve storm in Rosemary, to request her not to encourage Mr. Trevor Dermott's advances.

Rosemary cradled the carnations in her arms; two pale-pink blooms brushed her cheek; she said: "Lovely, lovely things! Isn't it funny how some people can't understand that flowers are quite literally a necessity to anyone like me?"

"If they're such a necessity to you, I can only say that I'm surprised you don't pay a little attention to the garden," said Clement in a peevish voice.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I've told you often and often that it's just no use expecting me to do things like that. I'm not that sort. I wasn't brought up to it."

He saw the sullen look descend on her face and said quickly: "I know: I wasn't blaming you. I didn't come up to talk about anything like that. Miss Allison has just been on the telephone. Really, it is so unexpected and-and shocking that I am almost unable to realise it. Silas is dead."

She let the flowers fall, ejaculating: "What?"

"Yes-yes! A dreadful accident. Death must have been instantaneous, I understand. He took his usual walk last night in the fog-there was a considerable fog, wasn't there? You remember we were obliged to drive very slowly on account of it? Well, as I was saying, in the fog he must have lost the path just where it winds close to the cliff edge and gone over. It doesn't bear thinking of, does it?"

She fixed him with a wide, glowing stare. "Dead? Cousin Silas actually dead? Clement, I can't believe it!"

"No, it doesn't seem possible, does it? I am very much distressed to think that such a thing should have happened."

"Yes, of course," she agreed. "But I do believe in being absolutely honest with oneself, and you must see, Clement, that it'll make the most tremendous difference to us. It's almost as though there's a Providence that steps in when one's almost desperate. Like that thing Mummy took up last year.

Right Thought, or something, where you simply fix your mind on what you want and utterly believe it'll come to you, and it does, as long as you don't do anything about it."

Clement felt doubtful whether the exponents of whatever this odd creed might be would relish Rosemary's description of it. Nor did he feel that fixing one's mind upon the death of a relative could really be called Right Thought. He ventured to say so, but quite mildly, and added that, though he quite understood what Rosemary meant, he thought she should be careful of what she said. One would not like to seem callous.

She brushed this aside impatiently. "My dear Clement, I know I have a lot of faults, but at least I'm honest. I can't pretend to be sorry Cousin Silas is dead, because I'm not. Perhaps I am callous.

Sometimes I think there is something inside me which is quite, quite cold. Not that I've any reason to mourn for Cousin Silas. I didn't like him, and he never understood me. I suppose you'll be the head of the firm now, won't you?"

"Well-I believe-that is to say, I know-that I shall have the biggest holding in the business. I really haven't considered it yet."

"And Cliff House?" she pursued. "That's yours, too, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said reluctantly. "I suppose it is."

She sank back against her pillows, clasping her hands across her eyes, her head a little thrown back. "No more poky, hateful houses!" she said. "No more of this foul housekeeping! Do you know, Clement, I do honestly believe the sordidness of it all was killing the Essential Me?"

His gaze dwelled on the lovely line of her lifted jaw.

He said: "That's all I ever wanted wealth for: to give you the things that will make you happy, Rosemary."

She murmured: "Darling, you're terribly, terribly sweet to me!"

He bent over her, crushing the carnations, and kissed her throat, and her chin, and her parted lips.

"You're so beautiful!" he said huskily. "You ought to have all the things you want. Thank G.o.d I shall be able to give them to you at last!"

"Darling!" sighed Rosemary, gently disengaging herself from his grasp.

He went away to the office, uplifted as he had not been for many weeks, thinking of his inheritance in terms of pearls for Rosemary, furs for Rosemary, huge expensive cars for Rosemary.

The news of Silas' death was before him. In the outer office faces composed in decent grief met him; the head clerk, speaking in hushed tones, begged on behalf of the staff to offer condolences. He went immediately to Joseph Mansell's room and found him there with his son Paul and the tall lean man with the goatee beard who was Oscar Roberts.

All three were deep in discussion, but the talk was broken off as he entered the room. Joe Mansell rose ponderously from his chair and came forward, saying: "I'm glad you felt able to come to the office, Clement. This is a terrible business! Poor old Silas! And only yesterday we were all at Cliff House to celebrate his sixtieth birthday! I know how you must feel it. I was only saying to Roberts just now that Silas was almost like a father to you. Poor fellow, poor fellow! It was that heart of his, I suppose?"

"I don't know," Clement replied. "I only heard over the telephone, and I didn't ask for details.

Really, I was so shocked I could scarcely take in the bare fact of Silas' death."

"No wonder, no wonder! When I heard of it I could not believe my ears. Bowled over! It doesn't do to think of the years I've known Silas. Right from the cradle. He will be a great loss to the firm."

Paul Mansell, who had been contemplating his well-manicured hands with smiling complacency, looked up and murmured his agreement with this sentiment.

The fourth member of the party, observing father and son with a distinct twinkle of amus.e.m.e.nt in his deep-sunken eyes, said in a slightly nasal drawl: "Well, I guess talking won't mend matters. I'd like to offer my sincere condolences, Mr. Kane. Maybe the old man and I didn't see eye to eye, but I sure did respect him. It seems out of place for me to be here to talk business today, but time presses, and I have to consider the interests of the firm I represent."

Joe heaved a gusty sigh. "Yes, yes, I'm sure we all appreciate your viewpoint. Silas would be the last person to want us to neglect the business, eh, Clement? Dear me, it will seem strange not to have him at the head of affairs!"

"Strange and melancholy," said Paul, gazing at the top of the window frame. "Yes indeed. Well, we shall look to you now, Clement, to fill his place. Ably, I am sure, you'll do it. We've often said, between ourselves, how like you were to Silas. You have his hard head, without his-how shall I put it?-conservatism! Poor Silas! He was getting old, you know. I've thought several times his years were telling on him. Losing grip-just losing grip a little."

Clement's hara.s.sed look deepened. He said in his quick, worried way: "I haven't had time to look to the future yet. I shall have to consider my position, of course; but at present I haven't thought about it."

"No wonder," said Joe sympathetically. "I'm sure we all understand how you must be feeling.

But, as I said to Paul, you'll be the first to appreciate Roberts' position. In actual fact, I believe I'm right in saying that we are all three of us agreed on the subject?" He paused, but Clement stood frowning down at the floor and said nothing. Joe glanced momentarily towards his son and resumed with a rather false air of heartiness: "Well, well, we've talked it over so often that we needn't go into it again now. As you know, Roberts came down from town last night to get Silas' final answer.

Naturally things will have to remain in abeyance until after probate, but I fancy we shall have no difficulty in coming to an agreement on the future policy of the firm and can give our friend here his answer now. What do you say, Clement?"

There was a short silence. Clement was thinking of what the upkeep and the probable refurnishing of Cliff House would cost him; of death duties and the super-tax he would have to pay; of the pearls Rosemary must have. Silas had been right: this Australian project was a chancy business. It meant locking up a lot of capital without any certainty of an adequate return.

Easy enough for the Mansells to talk so lightly about it. They wouldn't be risking anything. He looked up and said: "Really, I don't think I am in a position to say anything definite at the moment. I shall have to look into things carefully. The whole situation has altered. I don't feel I ought to commit myself rashly before I see just how I stand. I'm sure Mr. Roberts will understand that it is quite impossible for me to give him an answer today."

Oscar Roberts replied before Joe Mansell could speak: "Why, surely, Mr. Kane! I reckon it wouldn't be reasonable to expect you to decide anything at a moment's notice like this."

"Exactly! This has come upon me so unexpectedly that really I hardly know what is happening.

I only came to the office to inform you of Silas' death, Joe, in case you shouldn't have heard about it.

I'm going up to Cliff House immediately to see my great-aunt and to make the-er-the necessary arrangements." He glanced at his wrist watch. "Yes, I see I'm late already. I have to pick my wife up on the way. I shall have to ask you to excuse me."

He hurried away. Oscar Roberts sat still, with his long legs crossed, a faint, imperturbable smile on his lips. Paul Mansell said with an unpleasant ring in his voice: "So that's how it's going to be, is it?"

Joe had been standing rather foolishly gazing at the door through which Clement had gone, but he turned as his son spoke and said robustly: "Nonsense, my boy, nonsense! It's very natural he should feel all at sea just at first. Mr. Roberts quite understands that."

"Sure," said Roberts amiably. "I don't want to hurry him unreasonably. You know my position, Mr. Mansell. I want the best I can get for my firm, and you make the best. If I can fix things with you I'll be glad to do so; if I can't-well, I'll have to negotiate with the next-best."

"Quite, quite!" Joe said. "We fully appreciate your position, and I think I may say-yes, I am sure I may say-that we shall be able to give you a definite answer at no very distant date."

On this note of optimism they parted. No sooner had Oscar Roberts left the room than Paul said furiously: "The d.a.m.ned skunk! I suppose you see what's going to happen now he's got his hands on the moneybags?"

"We mustn't leap to conclusions," Joe said. "He hasn't had time to find his feet yet, that's all it is."

"Oh, that's all it is, is it?" Paul said. "Just hasn't found his feet! Well, if you ask me, he is finding them a dam' sight too quickly! When I think that we've got rid of that old fool Silas only to find Master Clement--"

"Paul, my boy! Paul!" Joe interrupted, losing a little of his high colour, "You're talking very wildly-very wildly indeed!"

"Yes, and I feel wild!" his son threw back at him. "Like a fool I thought that if once Silas was out of the way we could see our way clear. Now we've got a--"

Joe brought his open hand down upon the desk between them. "Hold your tongue!" He saw Paul staring at him and said in a milder voice: "It's very tiresome; but I don't despair of Clement by any means. He'll come round. Why, he's been in favour of the scheme all along! But this-this tragic business of Silas' death-- My dear boy, you can't be too careful what you say. Anyone hearing you might well wonder--"

"Whether I had anything to do with Silas' death?" Paul said, looking him in the eye.

Joe made a gesture with one hand. "Of course, it would be a preposterous idea; but we don't want to give people the least cause to suspect that we did want him dead. And when you talk of having believed that once he was out of the way-well, it's injudicious, my boy, extremely injudicious!"

Paul lit a cigarette and flicked the match into the grate. "Naturally I only meant that we've heard so much about Silas' weak heart that I couldn't help envisaging the possibility of his death."

"Naturally, naturally!" Joe agreed. "But though the very notion is absurd, one has to be careful.

There's bound to be an inquiry, and one doesn't want the least hint of suspicion-not that any sane person could possibly imagine for a moment--"

"Well," said Paul blandly, "if the police suspect foul play, I fancy they'll be more interested in Clement's movements last night than in mine." He paused and inhaled a deep breath of smoke. "What makes you think there was foul play, Dad?"

Joe started. "I? Good G.o.d, I don't think it! Nothing of the sort! n.o.body could think such a thing!

n.o.body who knew Silas!"

He was wrong. Mr. Timothy Harte, having spent an awe-inspiring hour watching the proceedings of the police, inspecting the scene of the accident, and cross-examining Pritchard and Ogle, told Miss Allison that he was now quite sure that Silas had been b.u.mped off.

Miss Allison took instant exception to this vulgar and unfeeling expression and said that he was talking nonsense.

He looked her over with a sapient eye. "You can say it's nonsense if you like, but, all the same, I bet you think it was murder."

"I do not!" said Patricia emphatically. "I think it's all absolutely horrible, and that you're making it worse by trying to turn it into a cheap thriller." She walked away from him, up the stairs to Mrs.

Kane's rooms, conscious of a faint wish that Mr. James Kane was present to quell his stepbrother.