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stop typing. Not the whole time I didn’t stop. You can see the work in my machine.’
    Inspector Hyde actually walked through the counter flap and stood at her desk looking at the sheet of paper in the typewriter and the pile of completed sheets beside it. Then he spun around and faced us again.
    ‘Well, if it wasn’t Miss Jarvis, then who was it?’ he demanded.
    There was no answer to that question, so we didn’t try to provide one. I saw the suspicious gleam in his eye and wondered if he thought he was looking at some secret society of Gentlemen Murderers. At least, that’s what his narrowing gaze said to me. What did he imagine we were? The Oxford League of Assassins: mysterious murders committed to order on short notice—reasonable rates. Is that what he imagined? His suspicion of us couldn’t have been clearer if he’d worn it as a broad phylactery on his forehead.
    ‘Perhaps there’s another way into the cellar,’ mumbled Warnie after a long silence. ‘Only thing I can think of.’
    ‘And we thought of it too, Major Lewis. Some seventy or eighty years ago, when this was a private residence, there was a coal hole from the street into the cellar. But that was sealed up years ago. No, this door is the only way down and the only way out.’
    ‘Well, no one went down,’ I said, ‘and certainly no one came out.’
    ‘Does it make any sense to you, Donaldson?’ the inspector snapped at his sergeant.
    ‘There’s some funny business going on here,’ said the sergeant, ‘but I don’t know what it is.’ As he spoke his forehead crinkled, like a junior clerk struggling with a tricky clue in a
Times
crossword.
    ‘Have you made a more thorough search for the weapon?’ Jack asked.
    ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ groaned the inspector. ‘First thing we did. It’s not a big cellar, and it’s almost bare. Donaldson, Dixon and I went over it very carefully. The weapon that young Grimm stabbed himself with—if, that is, he did stab himself—has definitely disappeared.’
    As he said the words ‘stab himself’ Ruth Jarvis howled again. Clearly this was going to drag on for some time, so I walked over to one of the straight-backed wooden chairs and sat down, stretching my legs out in front of me.
    ‘Come along, inspector—this is getting us nowhere,’ said Jack. ‘The facts are the facts, and we can sit around talking about them until doomsday and they won’t change.’
    The inspector didn’t like this and he responded by saying that we would be required as witnesses and were not to leave the town at least for the next few days. Then he looked at his watch and asked, ‘How long has Ravenswood been locked in that strongroom now?’
    ‘No more than half an hour,’ I said. ‘The teller told us there was plenty of air in the vault and the man with the combination should be here early this afternoon.’
    ‘In fact, we should check that vault door. Donaldson, you come with me. Dixon you stay here and keep an eye on . . . these people.’
    As they disappeared back into the cellar, Warnie muttered, ‘I say, Jack. Does this mean that we’re suspects or something?’
    ‘It’s not “something”, it’s definitely “suspects”. After all, this is a small town and we’re the outsiders,’ Jack replied.
    ‘I think it’s quite offensive,’ puffed Warnie. ‘You’re an Oxford don, I’m an officer in the British Army. It’s outrageous that we should be treated as suspects.’
    A few minutes later the inspector and his sergeant reappeared.
    ‘Well?’ asked Jack. ‘What did you find?’
    ‘That vault door is locked up as strong as a prison.’ With these words Inspector Hyde ran his fingers through his thinning hair. ‘Well, I’m beaten,’ he muttered. ‘This is too much for me. I’m going to phone the Chief Constable and get permission to call in Scotland Yard.’

SIX

    The question then arose of what was to be done with us. The inspector decided that we should find ourselves some accommodation for