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nodded, her face pale, perhaps picturing someone waiting in the dark outside, watching for that moment. She gave a very slight shiver and her body remained rigid.
    “On those nights, she wouldn’t have visitors?” Knox went on. “Not have a lady friend come over, for example?”
    “No,” Mrs. Millbridge answered. “Nobody that I know of.”
    “And would you know, ma’am?”
    “Well … if she had someone visit her, she would want tea, at the very least, and perhaps a light supper,” she pointed out. “There would be someone to fetch that, and then wait to let the visitor out and lock up. That means at least one maid and one footman.”
    “Indeed,” Knox said calmly. “And if she were to leave the house herself, then I suppose there would have to be a footman available to let her back in again. Not to mention perhaps a coachman to take her wherever she was going?”
    “Of course.” Mrs. Millbridge nodded her head.
    Narraway thought of the other alternative, that a man had visited her and she had let him in and out herself. Any refreshment he had taken would be a glass of whisky or brandy from the decanter in the study. However, he did not say so. The inspector would surely have thought of it also.
    Knox left the subject of visitors. “What did Mrs. Quixwood like to do with her time?”
    Mrs. Millbridge looked puzzled, and the anxiety was back again. She did not answer. Narraway wondered immediately what it was she feared. He watched Knox’s face, but had no idea what lay behind the furrowed brow and the sad downturn of the inspector’s mouth.
    “Did she enjoy the garden, perhaps?” Knox suggested. “Maybe even direct the gardener about what to plant, and where?”
    “Oh, I see,” Mrs. Millbridge said with relief. “Yes, she was interested in flowers and things. Often arranged them herself, she did. In the house, I mean.” For a moment there was life in her face again, as if she had allowed herself to forget why they were here. “Went to lectures at the Royal Horticultural Society now and then,” she added. “Geographical Society too. Liked to read about other places, even far-offones, such as India and Egypt. She read about the people who used to live there thousands of years ago.” She shook her head in wonderment at such a fancy. “And the Greeks and Romans too.”
    “She sounds like a very interesting lady,” Knox observed.
    Mrs. Millbridge gulped and the tears spilled down her cheeks. Suddenly her grief was painfully apparent. She looked old and crumpled and very vulnerable.
    “I’m sorry,” Knox apologized gently. “Maybe we can leave anything else for another time. You must be tired.” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “It’s nearly two.”
    “It’s all right,” she insisted, lifting her chin and looking at him with a degree of defiance, her dignity returned. Perhaps it was what he had intended.
    “I’m sure,” he agreed. “But you’ll have your hands full in the morning. The maids are all going to look to you. You’ll have to be like a mother for them.” He was telling her what she knew, but the reminder of her importance was obviously steadying. “They won’t have known anything like this before,” he went on. “We’re going to have to see Mrs. Quixwood’s lady’s maid tomorrow anyway. I realize it’s very late and she’s surely too upset to speak to us tonight. But when we do … well, even with the extra time, she’s still going to be in considerable distress. It’s only to be expected. And she’ll need someone’s support, someone’s strength. A person she knows and trusts.”
    “Yes.” Mrs. Millbridge stood up. “Yes, of course. Flaxley was devoted to Mrs. Quixwood.” She smoothed her skirt down. “You’re right, sir.” She glanced at Narraway, but she had no idea who he was. For her, Knox was in charge. “Thank you, sir. Good night.”
    “Good night, Mrs. Millbridge,” Knox answered.
    When she had retired to her bedroom, Knox