The Footsteps That Stopped (Musaicum Murder Mysteries). Dorothy Fielding

the morning-room chimney had been tiresome; but Mrs. Tangye would not hear of it.

      "The wind changed after four, I noticed when I opened the door at six that the fire was behaving itself—all things considered—better than I'd hoped."

      The fireplace was in the main part of the room.

      "Wasn't the room cold?"

      "Not so bad when the windows were shut, for the kitchen chimney warms it then, but it was bitter when I brought in the tea-things. Mrs. Tangye had to keep the windows open because of the smoke. She must have shut them later on when the fire began to blaze up."

      Florence was as certain as she had been at the inquest that the windows were tightly fastened when she caught sight of her dead mistress.

      "Tell us once more about the visitor, what did she look like?" Wilmot asked, on Pointer glancing at him.

      "Mrs. Cranbourn, sir? Sort of stout and all muffled up in a fur coat with a large collar up to her eyes. Very wheezy voice. I couldn't notice much, for she stepped past me at once, saying, 'I'm most frightfully late, I'm afraid.' She was talking and moving all in one breath. I opened the morning-door and went forward saying, 'Mrs. Cranbourn to see you'm. But when I got to the alcove—" The rest they knew.

      She had no idea what had become of the caller. "I suppose she caught sight over my shoulder of Mrs. Tangye. At any rate I didn't see her no more. But when I think of the poor mistress sitting there—"

      "Did the visitor step towards the morning-room as though she knew the house?" Pointer asked.

      "She did. Mrs. Tangye always has tea in there in winter."

      "Then the lady must have been to Riverview before?"

      "Very likely. But not in my time. I've only been here a year. Mrs. Cranbourn must have known the house from before then."

      "Are you sure it was Mrs. Cranbourn?" Pointer asked quietly.

      "Why, who else could it be, sir? At that hour, and all bundled up from a journey?" Florence stared at the Chief Inspector as though he must be strangely dense not to see this for himself.

      "That's true. She was very agitated, you said, I think?"

      "She was in a frightful rush, sir. She almost shoved past me. But there! We little know! The next moment I must have pushed past her to get out of the room!"

      Florence could not amplify her account of the caller. The shock of finding Mrs. Tangye dead had wiped away all clear remembrance of the woman whose arrival had led to the discovery.

      Pointer turned the subject.

      "Mrs. Tangye's dress looks to me rather handsome. All that fur and silver embroidery. Isn't it more elaborate than she usually wore of an afternoon?"

      "Oh, yes, sir. Mrs. Tangye dressed very quiet. That frock was going to be worn at a wedding next week."

      "Had she had it on before?"

      "Once. This last Monday."

      "Ah yes, the day she sent you to Jay's."

      Pointer went over the Monday too, very carefully with Florence. He learnt nothing fresh.

      Coming again to Tuesday, and to the missing keys, Florence said she was sure that she had seen them lying on the top of her mistress's writing bureau when she was in the room at four.

      Pointer glanced at Wilmot.

      "You look a clever girl," Wilmot said flatteringly, "what's your opinion of this sad affair? Your honest opinion as between friends. The inquest is over now."

      "Oh, sir, of course it was an accident! She didn't kill herself I Not she! Why, there's that evening-dress. She'd only just ordered it. You don't throw away sixty pounds for nothing, do you? At least Mrs. Tangye didn't. And those shoes that were being made to match. Oh no, sir. It was an accident. Mrs. Tangye did something careless-like with that Webley of hers, and that was that!"

      "As a matter of fact, have you ever see her handling the revolver when you were in the room?" Haviland asked.

      "I shouldn't have been in the room long, if I had, you bet," Florence spoke with a vigour that made the men smile.

      "And when did you last see it in its box?" asked Pointer. "Monday morning it was there all right. I know by the weight. But it wasn't in it yesterday morning."

      The inquest had elicited the fact—from Tangye—that his wife had spoken of putting it in a drawer in her bureau to help her to remember about the initials.

      "Can you suggest any reason why Mrs. Tangye went through her papers so thoroughly yesterday morning?" Pointer was now questioning her. She could not.

      "And about Miss Saunders—did she start her packing on Monday or only yesterday morning?"

      "Yesterday morning, sir."

      Haviland inwardly opened his eyes.

      "Ah yes! After that quarrel she and Mrs Tangye had." Pointer was bluffing.

      "You mean their talk after breakfast, sir? Oh, they weren't quarrelling. The mistress's voice was quite low and soft. And she always raised it when she was angry. Always. It sounded to me more like it was Miss Saunders who was huffed. I heard her say, 'It's not the money. It's how it looks. I insist on staying till at least the end of the week.' That was the first thing after breakfast, that was."

      "Ah yes," mused Pointer again, "the quarrel came after lunch, I think."

      "It couldn't have, sir. The mistress went out directly lunch was over, and there was no trouble when they were at table. There hadn't been no quarrel or the mistress would never have talked to her as she did. Talked quite a lot for Mrs. Tangye."

      "Where were they when you heard Miss Saunders speak of leaving?"

      "In the morning-room, sir. Miss Saunders said that and walked out."

      "Did she look vexed?"

      "Well no, sir. But that goes for nothing. Miss Saunders never shows when she's angry. But she pays you back for it just the same."

      "You don't like Miss Saunders?"

      Florence did not. But servants rarely like companions. Pointer harked back to yesterday afternoon, and tried his last cast:

      "You said at the inquest that your mistress came in from the garden as you brought in the tea-tray?"

      "Yes. Five minutes to the hour that was."

      "Did she often go out in the garden after dark? On such a day as we had yesterday?" Pointer was doing all the questioning now.

      "Well no, sir. Now I come to think of it she doesn't—didn't."

      "Did you see her in the garden at all?"

      "I couldn't have. You see, sir, in this house the back garden is all at the side. Except just a little bit that's in front." Wilmot laughed outright.

      "She was alone in the garden, I suppose?" Pointer went on. "Oh yes, sir. Quite alone."

      "How do you know, if you couldn't see her?" Pointer persisted, half-smiling.

      "Well, sir, I should have heard voices, shouldn't I? The window of my pantry—it's too high up to see out of, but it gives on to that side." She stopped suddenly, as though remembering something. A rather startled look spread over her face.

      "Yes?" cooed Pointer persuasively.

      "Well, sir, that's funny! Talking of her being alone, my sister Olive, she said to me as we were giving the silver a rub-up before bringing in the tray, she said that she thought she heard a crunch-crunch on the gravel behind the mistress. But then Olive—" she hesitated, "my sister hears things. She's not normal, the doctor tells us." She announced the fact with some pride. "She's taken on something cruel at Mrs. Tangye's death. Says she felt it coming, and ought to've warned her. But there, Olive is that way! It's not being normal does it."

      "What did she hear out of the