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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