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four-thirty - and probably much nearer two o'clock, so it looks as though whoever it was, was hanging round waiting for Miss Gilchrist to leave the cottage.
    The lawyer's face twitched slightly. Inspector Morton went on: “You'll be going to see Miss Gilchrist, I suppose?”
    “I thought of doing so.”
    “I should be glad if you would. She's told us, I think, everything that she can, but you never know. Sometimes, in conversation, some point or other may crop up. She's a trifle old-maidish - but quite a sensible, practical woman - and she's really been most helpful and efficient.”
    He paused and then said:
    “The body's at the mortuary. If you would like to see it.”
    Mr Entwhistle assented, though with no enthusiasm.
    Some few minutes later he stood looking down at the mortal remains of Cora Lansquenet. She had been savagely attacked and the henna dyed fringe was clotted and stiffened with blood. Mr Entwhistle's lips tightened and he looked away queasily.
    Poor little Cora. How eager she had been the day before yesterday to know whether her brother had left her anything. What rosy anticipations she must have had of the future. What a lot of silly things she could have done - and enjoyed doing - with the money.
    Poor Cora... How short a time those anticipations had lasted.
    No one had gained by her death - not even the brutal assailant who had thrust away those trinkets as he fled. Five people had a few thousands more of capital - but the capital they had already received was probably more than sufficient for them. No, there could be no motive there.
    Funny that murder should have been running in Cora's mind the very day before she herself was murdered.
    “He was murdered, wasn't he?”
    Such a ridiculous thing to say. Ridiculous! Quite ridiculous! Much too ridiculous to mention to Inspector Morton. Of course, after he had seen Miss Gilchrist...
    Supposing that Miss Gilchrist, although it was unlikely, could throw any light on what Richard had said to Cora.
    “I thought from what he said -” What had Richard said?
    “I must see Miss Gilchrist at once,” said Mr Entwhistle to himself.

After the Funeral
    III
    Miss Gilchrist was a spare faded-looking woman with short, iron-grey hair. She had one of those indeterminate faces that women around fifty so often acquire.
    She greeted Mr Entwhistle warmly.
    “I'm so glad you have come, Mr Entwhistle. I really know so little about Mrs Lansquenet's family, and of course I've never, never had anything to do with a murder before. It's too dreadful!”
    Mr Entwhistle felt quite sure that Miss Gilchrist had never before had anything to do with murder. Indeed, her reaction to it was very much that of his partner.
    “One reads about them, of course,” said Miss Gilchrist, relegating crimes to their proper sphere. “And even that I'm not very fond of doing. So sordid, most of them.”
    Following her into the sitting-room Mr Entwhistle was looking sharply about him. There was a strong smell of oil paint. The cottage was overcrowded, less by furniture, which was much as Inspector Morton had described it, than by pictures. The walls were covered with pictures, mostly very dark and dirty oil paintings. But there were water-colour sketches as well, and one or two still lifes. Smaller pictures were stacked on the window-seat.
    “Mrs Lansquenet used to buy them at sales,” Miss Gilchrist explained. “It was a great interest to her, poor dear. She went to all the sales round about. Pictures go so cheap, nowadays, a mere song. She never paid more than a pound for any of them, sometimes only a few shillings, and there was a wonderful chance, she always said, of picking up something worth while. She used to say that this was an Italian Primitive that might be worth a lot of money.”
    Mr Entwhistle looked at the Italian Primitive pointed out to him dubiously. Cora, he reflected, had never really known anything about pictures. He'd eat his hat if any of these daubs were worth a five