Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 67, No. 3. Whole No. 388, March 1976

Sing a Song of Sixpence by Agatha Christie[8]

One of the best Agatha Christie nonseries detective stories — that is, about a detective who has appeared only one time in an Agatha Christie story (thus ruling out Hercule Poirot, Tommy and Tuppence Beresford, Harley Quin, Miss Jane Marple, and Parker Pyne). In this instance it is Sir Edward Palliser, K.C., a retired criminal lawyer who once — so long ago, it seemed to Sir Edward — made a promise to a beautiful young girl. And when that girl, now grown up, became a damsel in distress, Sir Edward became a knight in shining armor — to go forth and give battle to the Dragon of Murder...

Sir Edward Palliser, K.C., lived at No. 9 Queen Anne’s Close. Queen Anne’s Close is a cul-de-sac. In the very heart of Westminster it manages to have a peaceful old-world atmosphere far removed from the turmoil of the twentieth century. It suited Sir Edward Palliser admirably.

Sir Edward had been one of the most eminent criminal barristers of his day and now that he no longer practiced at the Bar he had amused himself by amassing a very fine criminological library. He was also the author of a volume of Reminiscences of Eminent Criminals.

On this particular evening Sir Edward was sitting in front of his library fire sipping some excellent black coffee, and shaking his head over a volume of Lombroso. Such ingenious theories and so completely out of date.

The door opened almost noiselessly and his well-trained manservant approached over the thick pile carpet, and murmured discreetly, “A young lady wishes to see you, sir.”

“A young lady?”

Sir Edward was surprised. Here was something quite out of the usual course of events. Then he reflected that it might be his niece, Ethel — but no, in that case Armour would have said so.

He inquired cautiously. “The lady did not give her name?”

“No, sir, but she said she was quite sure you would wish to see her.”

“Show her in,” said Sir Edward Palliser. He felt pleasurably intrigued.

A tall dark girl of close on 30, wearing a black coat and skirt, well cut, and a little black hat, came to Sir Edward with outstretched hand and a look of eager recognition on her face. Armour withdrew, closing the door behind him.

“Sir Edward — you do know me, don’t you? Pm Magdalen Vaughan.”

“Why, of course.” He pressed the outstretched hand warmly.

He remembered her perfectly now. That trip home from America on the Siluric. This charming child — for she had been little more than a child. He had made love to her, he remembered, in a discreet, elderly man-of-the-world fashion. She had been so adorably young, so eager, so full of admiration and hero-worship — just made to captivate the heart of a man near 60. The remembrance brought additional warmth into the pressure of his hand.

“This is most delightful of you. Sit down, won’t you.” He arranged an armchair for her, talking easily and evenly, wondering all the time why she had come. When at last he brought the easy flow of small talk to an end there was a silence.

Her hand closed and unclosed on the arm of the chair as she moistened her lips. Suddenly she spoke — abruptly.

“Sir Edward, I want you to help me.”

He was surprised and murmured mechanically, “Yes?”

She went on, speaking more intensely, “You said that if ever I needed help, that if there was anything in the world you could do for me, you would do it.”

Yes, he had said that. It was the sort of thing one did say — particularly at the moment of parting. He could recall the break in his voice, the way he had raised her hand to his lips.

“If there is ever anything I can do — remember, I mean it...”

Yes, one said that sort of thing... But very, very rarely did one have to fulfill one’s words! And certainly not after — how many? — nine or ten years. He flashed a quick glance at her — she was still a very good-looking girl, but she had lost what had been to him her charm — that look of dewy untouched youth. It was a more interesting face now, perhaps — a younger man might have thought so — but Sir Edward was far from feeling the tide of warmth and emotion that had been his at the end of that Atlantic voyage.

His face became legal and cautious. He said in a rather brisk way, “Certainly, my dear young lady, I shall be delighted to do anything in my power — though I doubt if I can be very helpful to anyone in these days.”

If he was preparing his way of retreat she did not notice it. She was of the type that can only see one thing at a time and what she was seeing at this moment was her own need. She took Sir Edward’s willingness to help for granted.

“We are in terrible trouble, Sir Edward.”

“We? You are married?”

“No — I meant my brother and I. Oh, and William and Emily, too, for that matter. But I must explain. I have — I had an aunt — Miss Crabtree. You may have read about her in the papers? It was horrible. She was killed — murdered.”

“Ah!” A flash of interest lit up Sir Edward’s face. “About a month ago, wasn’t it?”

The girl nodded. “Rather less than that — three weeks.”

“Yes, I remember. She was hit on the head in her own house. They didn’t get the fellow who did it.”

Again Magdalen Vaughan nodded. “They didn’t get the man — I don’t believe they ever will get the man. You see, there mightn’t be any man to get.”

“What?”

“Yes, it’s awful. Nothing’s come out about it in the papers. But that’s what the police think. They nobody came to the house that night.”

“You mean—?”

“That it’s one of us four. It must be. They don’t know which — and we don’t know which... We don’t know. And we sit there every day looking at each other surreptitiously and wondering. Oh, if only it could have been someone from outside — but I don’t see how it can...”

Sir Edward stared at her, his interest rising.

“You mean members of the family are under suspicion?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean. The police haven’t said so, of course. They’ve been quite polite and nice. But they’ve ransacked the house, they’ve questioned us all, and Martha again and again... And because they don’t know which, they’re holding their hand. I’m so frightened, so horribly frightened.”

“My dear child. Come now, surely you are exaggerating.”

“I’m not. It’s one of us four — it must be.”

“Who are the four to whom you refer?”

Magdalen sat up straight and spoke more composedly.

“There’s myself and Matthew. Aunt Lily was our great-aunt. She was my grandmother’s sister. We’ve lived with her ever since we were fourteen — we’re twins, you know. Then there was William Crabtree. He was her nephew, her brother’s child. He lived there, too, with his wife, Emily.”

“She supported them?”

“More or less. He has a little money of his own, but he’s not strong and has to live at home. He’s a quiet, dreamy sort of man. I’m sure it would have been impossible for him to have — oh, it’s awful of me to think of it even!”

“I am still very far from understanding the position. Perhaps you would not mind running over the facts — if it does not distress you too much.”

“Oh, no, I want to tell you. And it’s all quite clear in my mind still — horribly clear. We’d had tea, you understand, and we’d all gone off to do things of our own. I to do some dressmaking, Matthew to type an article — he does a little journalism; William to do his stamps. Emily hadn’t been down to tea. She’d taken a headache powder and was lying down. So there we were, all of us, busy and occupied. And when Martha went in to set the table for supper at half-past seven, there Aunt Lily was — dead. Her head — oh, it’s horrible — all crushed in.”

“The weapon was found, I think?”

“Yes. It was a heavy paperweight that always lay on the table by the door. The police tested it for fingerprints, but there were none. It had been wiped clean.”

“And your first surmise?”

“We thought, of course, it was a burglar. There were two or three drawers of the bureau pulled out, as though a thief had been looking for something. Of course we thought it was a burglar! And then the police came and they said she had been dead at least an hour, and asked Martha who had been to the house, and Martha said nobody. And all the windows were fastened on the inside, and there seemed no signs of anything having been tampered with. And then they began to ask us questions.”

She stopped. Her eyes, frightened and imploring, sought Sir Edward’s in search of reassurance.

“For instance, who benefited by your aunt’s death?”

“That’s simple. We all benefit equally. She left her money to be divided in equal shares among the four of us.”

“And what was the value of her estate?”

“The lawyer told us it will come to about eighty thousand pounds after the death duties are paid.”

Sir Edward opened his eyes in some slight surprise.

“That is quite a considerable sum. You knew, I suppose, the total of your aunt’s fortune?”

Magdalen shook her head.

“No, it came quite as a surprise to us. Aunt Lily was always terribly careful about money. She kept just the one servant and always talked a lot about economy.”

Sir Edward nodded thoughtfully. Magdalen leaned forward a little in her chair.

“You will help me — you will?”

Her words came to Sir Edward as a shock just at the moment when he was becoming interested in her story for its own sake.

“My dear young lady, what can I possibly do? If you want good legal advice I can give you the name—”

She interrupted him. “Oh, I don’t want that sort of thing. I want you to help me personally, as a friend.”

“That’s very charming of you, but—”

“I want you to come to our house. I want you to ask questions. I want you to see and judge for yourself.”

“But my dear young—”

“Remember, you promised. Anywhere, any time, you said, if I wanted help—”

Her eyes, pleading yet confident, looked into his. He felt ashamed and strangely touched. That terrific sincerity of hers, that absolute belief in an idle promise, ten years old, as a sacred binding thing. How many men had not said those self-same words — a cliché almost! — and how few of them had ever been called on to make good.

He said rather weakly, “I’m sure there are many people who could advise you better than I could.”

“I’ve got lots of friends — naturally.” He was amused by her naive self-assurance. “But, you see, none of them is clever. Not like you. You’re used to questioning people. And with all your experience you must know.”

“Know what?”

“Whether they’re innocent or guilty.”

He smiled rather grimly to himself. He flattered himself that, on the whole, he usually had, known! Though, on many occasions, his private opinion had not been that of the jury.

Magdalen pushed back her hat from her forehead with a nervous gesture, looked round the room, and said, “How quiet it is here. Don’t you sometimes long for some noise?”

The cul-de-sac! All unwittingly her words, spoken at random, touched him on the raw. A cul-de-sac. Yes, but there was always a way out — the way you had come — the way back into the world.

Something impetuous and youthful stirred in him. Her simple trust appealed to the best side of his nature — and her problem appealed to something else, the innate criminologist in him. He wanted to see these people of whom she spoke. He wanted to form his own judgment.

He said, “If you are really convinced I can be of any use... Mind, I guarantee nothing.”

He expected her to be overwhelmed with delight, but she took it very calmly.

“I knew you would do it. I’ve always thought of you as a real friend. Will you come back with me now?”

“No. I think if I pay you a visit tomorrow it will be more satisfactory. Will you give me the name and address of Miss Crabtree’s lawyer? I may want to ask him a few questions.”

She wrote it down and handed it to him. Then she got up and said rather shyly, “I–I’m really most awfully grateful. Goodbye.”

“And your own address?”

“How stupid of me. 18 Palatine Walk, Chelsea.”

It was three o’clock on the following afternoon when Sir Edward Palliser approached 18 Palatine Walk with a sober, measured tread. In the interval he had found out several things. He had paid a visit that morning to Scotland Yard, where the Assistant Commissioner was an old friend of his, and he had also had an interview with the late Miss Crabtree’s lawyer. As a result he had a clearer vision of the circumstances.

Miss Crabtree’s arrangements in regard to money had been somewhat peculiar. She never made use of a check book. Instead, she was in the habit of writing to her lawyer and asking him to have a certain sum in five-pound notes waiting for her. It was nearly always the same sum — £300 had been spent — or almost spent. But this was exactly the point that had not been easy to ascertain.

By checking the household expenditure, it was soon evident that Miss Crabtree’s expenditure per quarter fell a good deal short of the £300. On the other hand, she was in the habit of sending five-pound notes to needy friends or relatives. Whether there had been much or little money in the house at the time of her death was a debatable point. None had been found.

It was this particular point which Sir Edward was revolving in his mind as he approached Palatine Walk.

The door of the house — which was a non-basement one — was opened to him by a small elderly woman with an alert gaze. He was shown into a big double room on the left of the small hallway and there Magdalen came to him. More clearly than before, he saw the traces of nervous strain on her face.

“You told me to ask questions, and I have come to do so,” said Sir Edward, smiling as he shook hands. “First of all, I want to know who last saw your aunt and exactly what time that was.”

“It was after tea — five o’clock. Martha was the last person with her. She had been paying the books that afternoon, and brought Aunt Lily the change and the accounts.”

“You trust Martha?”

“Oh, absolutely. She was with Aunt Lily for — oh, thirty years, I suppose. She’s honest as the day.”

Sir Edward nodded.

“Another question. Why did your cousin, Mrs. Crabtree, take a headache powder?”

“Well, because she had a headache.”

“Naturally, but was there any particular reason why she should have a headache?”

“Well, yes, in a way. There was rather a scene at lunch. Emily is very excitable and highly strung. She and Aunt Lily used to have rows sometimes.”

“And they had one at lunch?”

“Yes. Aunt Lily was rather trying about little things. It all started out of nothing, and then they were at it hammer and tongs, with Emily saying all sorts of things she couldn’t possibly have meant — that she’d leave the house and never come back, that she was grudged every mouthful she ate — oh, all sorts of silly things. And Aunt Lily said the sooner she and her husband packed their bags and went the better. But it all meant nothing, really.”

“Because Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree couldn’t afford to pack up and go?”

“Oh, not only that. William was fond of Aunt Lily. He really was.”

“It wasn’t a day of quarrels, by any chance?”

Magdalen’s color heightened.

“You mean me? The fuss about my wanting to be a model?”

“Your aunt wouldn’t agree?”

“No.”

“Why did you want to be a model, Miss Magdalen? Does the life strike you as a very attractive one?”

“No, but anything would be better than going on living here.”

“Yes, but now you will have a comfortable income, won’t you?”

“Oh, yes, it’s quite different now.”

She made the admission with the utmost simplicity.

He smiled but pursued the subject no further. Instead he said, “And your brother? Did he have a quarrel too?”

“Matthew? Oh, no.”

“Then no one can say he had a motive for wishing his aunt out of the way?”

He was quick to seize on the momentary dismay that showed in her face.

“I forgot,” he said casually. “He owed a good deal of money, didn’t he?”

“Yes; poor old Matthew.”

“Still, that will be all right now.”

“Yes—” She sighed. “It is a relief.”

And still she saw nothing! He changed the subject hastily.

“Your cousins and your brother are at home?”

“Yes, I told them you were coming. They are all so anxious to help. Oh, Sir Edward — I feel, somehow, that you are going to find out that everything is all right, that none of us had anything to do with it — that, after all, it was an outsider.”

“I can’t do miracles. I may be able to find out the truth, but I can’t make the truth be what you want it to be.”

“Can’t you? I feel that you could do anything — anything.”

She left the room. He thought, disturbed, “What did she mean by that? Does she want me to suggest a line of defense? For whom?”

His meditations were interrupted by the entrance of a man about 50 years of age. He had a naturally powerful frame, but stooped slightly. His clothes were untidy and his hair carelessly brushed. He looked good-natured but vague.

“Sir Edward Palliser? Oh, how do you do? Magdalen sent me along. It’s very good of you, I’m sure, to wish to help us. Though I don’t think anything will ever be really discovered. I mean, they won’t catch the fellow.”

“You think it was a burglar, then — someone from outside?”

“Well, it must have been. It couldn’t be one of the family. These fellows are very clever nowadays — they climb like cats and they get in and out as they like.”

“Where were you, Mr. Crabtree, when the tragedy occurred?”

“I was busy with my stamps — in my little sitting room upstairs.”

“You didn’t hear anything?”

“No, but then I never do hear anything when I’m absorbed. Very foolish of me, but there it is.”

“Is the sitting room you refer to over this room?”

“No, it’s at the back.”

Again the door opened. A small fair woman entered. Her hands were twitching nervously. She looked fretful and excited.

“William, why didn’t you wait for me? I said ‘wait.’ ”

“Sorry, my dear, I forgot. Sir Edward Palliser — my wife.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Crabtree? I hope you don’t mind my coming here to ask a few questions. I know how anxious you must all be to have things cleared up.”

“Naturally. But I can’t tell you anything — can I, William? I was asleep — in my bed — I only woke up when Martha screamed.”

Her hands continued to twitch.

“Where is your room, Mrs. Crabtree?”

“It’s over this. But I didn’t hear anything — how could I? I was asleep.”

He could get nothing out of her but that. She knew nothing — she had heard nothing — she had been asleep. She reiterated it with the obstinacy of a frightened woman. Yet Sir Edward knew very well that it might easily be, probably was, the bare truth.

He excused himself at last — said he would like to put a few questions to Martha. William Crabtree volunteered to take him to the kitchen. In the hall Sir Edward nearly collided with a tall dark young man who was striding toward the front door.

“Mr. Matthew Vaughan?”

“Yes, but look here, I can’t wait. I’ve got an appointment.”

“Matthew!” It was his sister’s voice from the stairs. “Oh, Matthew, you promised—”

“I know, sis. But I can’t. Got to meet a fellow. And, anyway, what’s the good of talking about the damned thing over and over again. We have enough of that with the police. I’m fed up with the whole show.”

The front door banged. Mr. Matthew Vaughan had made his exit.

Sir Edward was introduced into the kitchen. Martha was ironing. She paused, iron in hand. Sir Edward shut the door behind him.

“Miss Vaughan has asked me to help her,” he said. “I hope you won’t object to my asking you a few questions.”

She looked at him, then shook her head.

“None of them did it, sir. I know what you’re thinking, but it isn’t so. As nice a set of ladies and gentlemen as you could wish to see.”

“I’ve no doubt of it. But their niceness isn’t what we call evidence, you know.”

“Perhaps not, sir. The law’s a funny thing. But there is evidence — as you call it, sir. None of them could have done it without my knowing.”

“But surely—”

“I know what I’m talking about, sir. There, listen to that.”

“That” was a creaking sound above their heads.

“The stairs, sir. Every time anyone goes up or down, the stairs creak something awful. It doesn’t matter how quiet you go. Mrs. Crabtree, she was lying on her bed, and Mr. Crabtree was fiddling about with them wretched stamps of his, and Miss Magdalen, she was up above working her sewing machine, and if any one of those three had come down the stairs I should have known it. And they didn’t!”

She spoke with a positive assurance which impressed the barrister. He thought: “A good witness. She’d carry weight.”

“You mightn’t have noticed.”

“Yes, I would. I’d have noticed without noticing, so to speak. Like you notice when a door shuts and somebody goes out.”

Sir Edward shifted his ground.

“That is three of them accounted for, but there is a fourth. Was Mr. Matthew Vaughan upstairs also?”

“No, but he was in the little room downstairs. Next door. And he was typewriting. You can hear it plain in here. His machine never stopped for a moment. Not for a moment, sir. I can swear to it. A nasty, irritating tap-tapping noise it is too.”

Sir Edward paused a few moments.

“It was you who found her, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, it was. Lying there with blood on her poor hair. And no one hearing a sound on account of the tap-tapping of Mr. Matthew’s typewriter.”

“I understand you are positive that no one came to the house?”

“How could they, sir, without my knowing? The bell rings in here. And there’s only the one door.”

He looked at her straight in the face. “You were attached to Miss Crabtree?”

A warm glow — genuine, unmistakable — came into her face.

“Yes, indeed, I was, sir. But for Miss Crabtree — well, I’m getting on and I don’t mind speaking of it now. I got into trouble, sir, when I was a girl, and Miss Crabtree stood by me — took me back into her service, she did, when it was all over. I’d have died for her — I would indeed.”

Sir Edward knew sincerity when he heard it, and Martha was sincere.

“As far as you know, no one came to the door?”

“No one could have come.”

“I said as far as you know. But if Miss Crabtree had been expecting someone, if she opened the door to that someone herself?”

“Oh!”

“That’s possible, I suppose?” Sir Edward urged.

“It’s possible — yes — but it isn’t very likely. I mean—”

She was clearly taken aback. She couldn’t deny and yet she wanted to do so. Why? Because she knew that the truth lay elsewhere. Was that it? The four people in the house — one of them guilty?

Did Martha want to shield that guilty party? Had the stairs creaked? Had someone come stealthily down and did Martha know who that someone was?

She herself was honest — Sir Edward was convinced of that.

He pressed his point, watching her. “Miss Crabtree might have done that, I suppose? The window of that room faces the street. She might have seen whoever it was she was waiting for from the window and gone out into the hall and let him — or her — in. She might even have wished that no one should see the person.”

Martha looked troubled. She said at last, reluctantly, “Yes, you may be right, sir. I never thought of that. That she was expecting a gentleman — yes, it well might be.”

It was as though she began to perceive advantages in the idea.

“You were the last person to see her, were you not?”

“Yes, sir. After I’d cleared away the tea. I took the receipted books to her and the change from the money she’d given me.”

“Had she given the money to you in five-pound notes?”

“A five-pound note, sir,” said Martha in a shocked voice. “The books never came up as high as five pounds. I’m very careful.”

“Where did she keep her money?”

“I don’t rightly know, sir. I should say that she carried it about with her — in her black velvet bag. But of course she may have kept it in one of the drawers in her bedroom that were locked. She was very fond of locking up things, though prone to lose her keys.”

Sir Edward nodded. “You don’t know how much money she had — in five-pound notes, I mean?”

“No, sir, I couldn’t say what the exact amount was.”

“And she said nothing to you that could lead you to believe she was expecting anybody?”

“No, sir.”

“You’re quite sure? What exactly did she say?”

“Well,” Martha considered, “she said the butcher was nothing more than a rogue and a cheat, and she said I’d had in a quarter of a pound of tea more than I ought, and she said Mrs. Crabtree was full of nonsense for not liking to eat margarine, and she didn’t like one of the sixpences I’d brought back — one of the new ones with oak leaves on it — she said it was bad, and I had a lot of trouble to convince her. And she said — oh, that the fishmonger had sent haddocks instead of whitings, and had I told him about it, and I said I had — and, really, I think that’s all, sir.”

Martha’s speech had made the deceased lady loom clear to Sir Edward as a detailed description would never have done. He said casually, “Rather a difficult mistress to please, eh?”

“A bit fussy, but there, poor dear, she didn’t often get out, and staying cooped up she had to have something to amuse herself like. She was pernickety but kind-hearted — never a beggar sent away from the door without something. Fussy she may have been, but a real charitable lady.”

“I am glad, Martha, that she leaves one person to regret her.”

The old servant caught her breath.

“You mean — oh, but they were all fond of her — really — underneath. They all had words with her now and again, but it didn’t mean anything.”

Sir Edward lifted his head. There was a creak above.

“That’s Miss Magdalen coming down.”

“How do you know?” he shot at her.

The old woman flushed. “I know her step,” she explained.

Sir Edward left the kitchen rapidly. Martha had been right. Magdalen had just reached the bottom stair. She looked at him hopefully.

“Not very far as yet,” said Sir Edward, answering her look, and added, “You don’t happen to know what letters your aunt received on the day of her death?”

“They are all together. The police have been through them, of course.”

She led the way to the big living room, and unlocking a drawer, took out a large black velvet bag with an old-fashioned silver clasp.

“This is aunt’s bag. Everything is in here just as it was on the day of her death. I’ve kept it like that.”

Sir Edward thanked her and proceeded to turn out the contents of the bag on the table. It was, he fancied, a fair specimen of an eccentric elderly lady’s handbag.

There was some old silver change, two ginger nuts, three newspaper clippings, a trashy, printed poem about the unemployed, an Old Moore’s Almanack, a large piece of camphor, some spectacles, and three letters. A spidery one from someone called “Cousin Lucy,” a bill for repairing a watch, and an appeal from a charitable institution.

Sir Edward went through everything very carefully, then repacked the bag and handed it to Magdalen with a sigh.

“Thank you, Miss Magdalen. I’m afraid there isn’t much there.”

He rose, observed that the window commanded a good view of the front-door steps, then took Magdalen’s hand in his.

“You are going?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s — it’s going to be all right?”

“Nobody connected with the law ever commits himself to a rash statement like that,” said Sir Edward solemnly, and made his escape.

He walked along the street, lost in thought. The puzzle was there under his hand — and he had not solved it. It needed something — some little thing. Just to point the way.

A hand fell on his shoulder and he started. It was Matthew Vaughan, somewhat out of breath.

“I’ve been chasing you. Sir Edward. I want to apologize. For my rotten manners half an hour ago. But I’ve not got the best temper in the world, I’m afraid. It’s awfully good of you to bother about this business. Please ask me whatever you like. If there’s anything I can do to help—”

Suddenly Sir Edward stiffened. His glance was fixed — not on Matthew, but across the street. Somewhat bewildered, Matthew repeated, “If there’s anything I can do to help—”

“You have already done it, my dear young man,” said Sir Edward. “By stopping me at this particular spot and so fixing my attention on something I might otherwise have missed.”

He pointed across the street to a small restaurant opposite.

“The Four and Twenty Blackbirds?” asked Matthew in a puzzled voice.

“Exactly.”

“It’s an odd name, but you get quite decent food there, I believe.”

“I shall not take the risk of experimenting,” said Sir Edward. “Being further from my nursery days than you are, my young friend, I probably remember my nursery rhymes better. There is a classic version that runs thus, if I remember rightly: Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye, Four and Twenty blackbirds baked in a pie — and so on. The rest of it does not concern us.”

He wheeled round sharply.

“Where are you going?” asked Matthew Vaughan.

“Back to your house.”

They walked there in silence, Matthew Vaughan shooting puzzled glances at his companion. Sir Edward entered, strode to a drawer, lifted out a velvet bag, and opened it. He looked at Matthew and the young man reluctantly left the room.

Sir Edward tumbled out the silver change on the table. Then he nodded. His memory had not been at fault.

He got up and rang the bell, slipping something into the palm of his hand as he did so.

Martha answered the bell.

“You told me, Martha, if I remember rightly, that you had a slight altercation with your late mistress over one of the new sixpences.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ah, but the curious thing is, Martha, that among this loose change, there is no new sixpence. There are two sixpences, but they are both old ones.”

She stared at him in a puzzled fashion.

“You see what that means? Someone did come to the house that evening — someone to whom your mistress gave sixpence... I think she gave it to him in exchange for this—”

With a swift movement he shot his hand forward, holding out the doggerel verse about unemployment.

One glance at her face was enough.

“The game is up, Martha — you see, I know. You may as well tell me everything.”

She sank down on a chair and tears raced down her face.

“It’s true — it’s true — the bell didn’t ring properly — I wasn’t sure, and then I thought I’d better go and see. I got to the door just as he struck her down. The roll of five-pound notes was on the table in front of her — it was the sight of them as made him do it — that and thinking she was alone in the house as she’d let him in. I couldn’t scream. I was too paralyzed and then he turned — and J saw it was my boy...

“Oh, he’s been a bad one always. I gave him all the money I could. He’s been in jail twice. He must have come around to see me, and then Miss Crabtree, seeing as I didn’t answer the door, went to answer it herself, and he was taken aback and pulled out one of those unemployment leaflets, and the mistress being always kind and charitable, told him to come in, and got out a sixpence.

“And all the time that roll of notes was lying on the table where it had been when I was giving her the change. And the devil got into my Ben and he got behind her and struck her down.”

“And then?” asked Sir Edward.

“Oh, sir, what could I do? My own flesh and blood. His father was a bad one, and Ben takes after him — but he was my own son. I hustled him out, and I went back to the kitchen, and I went to set the table for supper at the usual time. Do you think it was very wicked of me, sir? I tried to tell you no lies when you was asking me questions.”

Sir Edward rose.

“My poor woman,” he said with feeling in his voice. “I am very sorry for you. All the same, the law will have to take its course, you know.”

“He’s fled the country, sir. I don’t know where he is.”

“There’s a chance, then, that he may escape the gallows, but don’t count on it. Will you send Miss Magdalen to me?”

“Oh, Sir Edward. How wonderful of you — how wonderful you are,” said Magdalen when he had finished his brief recital. “You’ve saved us all. How can I ever thank you?”

Sir Edward smiled down at her and patted her hand gently. He was very much the great man. Little Magdalen had been very charming on the Siluric. That bloom of seventeen — wonderful! She had completely lost it now, of course.

“Next time you need a friend—” he said.

“I’ll come straight to you.”

“No, no,” cried Sir Edward in alarm. “That’s just what I don’t want you to do. Go to a younger man.”

He extricated himself with dexterity from the grateful household and hailing a taxi sank into it with a sigh of relief. Even the charm of a dewy seventeen seemed doubtful.

It could not really compare with a well-stocked library on criminology.

The taxi turned into Queen Anne’s Close.

His cul-de-sac.