People were put in the witness box after the doctors. Cousin Arthur first. He told how he had heard the cry of "Fire" and had rushed to the spot. He had immediately gone to my grandfather's room where one of the servants was dragging out the body. He had thought my grandfather was alive and had sent for the doctor. Had there been a quarrel between Sir Matthew and a member of the household on the previous night? he was asked.

Cousin Arthur, obviously reluctant, said that there had been a disagreement between Sir Matthew and his granddaughter Philippa.

Did he know what it was about?

Cousin Arthur thought that Sir Matthew had expressed his wish that there should be a match between himself and Sir Matthew's granddaughter and that she had refused to agree to this.

"Did he threaten her at all to your knowledge?"

"I was not present," said Cousin Arthur evasively. "But Sir Matthew was a man who could lose his temper easily if crossed." He believed he had shouted a little.

"To what effect? That he would cut her out of his will? That she would have to leave the house?"

"It may have been so."

"Was Philippa Ewell upset by this?"

"I did not see her at the time."

"When did you next see her after the argument?"

"On the landing outside the rooms which were on fire."

"Did she sleep in the corridor?"

"Yes, several bedrooms were there."

"Was yours?" Yes.

"And the servants?"

"They were on the floors above."

Arthur left the box and Mrs. Greaves was called. She said she had overheard the quarrel between my grandfather and me.

"Did he threaten to turn her out of the house and cut her out of his will?"

"He did," said Mrs. Greaves readily.

"You have very good hearing, Mrs. Greaves?"

"The best."

"Very useful in your position. Did you see Miss Philippa Ewell after the interview?"

"Yes. I saw her go to the room where her grandmother lay in her coffin."

"And did you see her later?"

"No, I didn't. But that did not mean that she stayed in her room all the night."

"We are not asking for your opinions, Mrs. Greaves, only for facts."

"Yes, sir, but I think I ought to say that Miss Ewell did have strange habits. She did roam about at night."

"That night?"

"I didn't see her that night. But I saw her one early morning. I had heard a noise—"

"Your excellent hearing again, Mrs. Greaves?"

"I thought it my duty to go and see who was prowling about. I have to look after the maids and make sure they behave, sir."

"Another excellent quality! And on this occasion ..."

"I saw Miss Philippa coming into the house. It must have been five o'clock in the morning. She was fully dressed and her hair was loose."

"And what conclusion did you come to?"

"That she had been out all night."

"Did she tell you this?"

"She said she had been for a walk in the gardens."

"I see no reason why Miss Ewell should not take an early morning walk if she wishes to, nor should I expect her to dress her hair before doing so."

It was clear that Mrs. Greaves was not making the impression she intended, but the reference to that morning shocked me deeply. I wondered what I could say if asked about it.

Should I tell them that I had spent the night with a lover? I should be condemned if I did so. There were many people who would think loose morals—for that was what I should be accused of—was as great a crime as murder. I had never felt so frightened in my life.

Then it was my turn.

"Miss Ewell, your grandfather wished you to marry your cousin and you refused to do this."

"Yes."

"And your refusal angered him?"

"Yes, it did."

"He threatened to turn you out of the house and cut you out of his will."

"He did."

"What did you say to that?"

"I said: 'I cannot marry someone I do not love and I will leave the house as soon as possible.'"

"And you would have done that the following day? Where would you have gone to?"

"I had thought I might go to my Aunt Grace or to one of the cottages until I had found a suitable home."

"And after this stormy interview what did you do?"

"I went into my grandmother's room to take a look at her in her coffin. We had been very fond of each other."

There was a nod of sympathy. I had a feeling that the questioner liked me and believed me and I felt, also, that he had disliked Mrs. Greaves and suspected her of malice. That gave me a certain courage.

"What happened in your grandmother's room?"

"I just looked at her and wished that she were alive to help me."

"Were the candles burning when you went into her room?"

"Yes. There had been candles burning since her death."

"Did you notice any insecurity about them?" No.

"I believe your grandmother has left you money with the wish that you may live an independent life. Was she of the opinion that your grandfather made harsh demands upon you?"

"Yes."

"You may step down, Miss Ewell."

It had been easier than I had thought it possibly could be and I was so relieved because there had been no mention of that early morning encounter with Mrs. Greaves.

After that it seemed that it went on for a long time. There was a great deal of discussion and I sat there limply waiting. Cousin Arthur reached for my hand and pressed, and for once I did not want to reject his hands.

Then the verdict: Accidental death. In the coroner's view there was insufficient evidence to say how the blow had been inflicted, and he was of the opinion that Sir Matthew had fallen and struck his head against the sharp edge of a fender—for there was evidence of such a fender surrounding the fireplace in his bedroom.

So we were free. The fearful menace which I had only half understood was lifted.

As I left the court with Cousin Arthur, Aunt Grace and her husband, I thought I saw someone I vaguely recognized. I couldn't think who it was for the moment, but it came to me later in a flash. It was the man whom I had seen when Miss Elton and I had gone to Dover to look at the register, the man whom I had assumed to be staying at the local inn and exploring the countryside.

I dismissed him from my thoughts. There was so much else to occupy me.

I was free now to make my plans.

I did not want to stay in Greystone Manor. There was a horrible atmosphere of suspicion there, instigated I was sure by Mrs. Greaves. I noticed the servants watching me furtively, and if I looked up and caught them suddenly they would look embarrassed and turn away.

Cousin Arthur continued to be extremely kind. "You must stay here as long as you like," he said. "In fact, you can regard Greystone Manor as your home."

"I certainly couldn't do that. My grandfather ordered me out and I shall go."

"It belongs to me now, you know."

"It's kind of you in view of everything, but I must go quickly."

It was Aunt Grace who came to my immediate rescue. "You must come and stay with Charles and me," she said. "Stay as long as you like, my dear. We have the money now to buy a house for ourselves and there is one not very far away from the vicarage, Wisteria Cottage. Do you remember it? Charles thinks it would suit us beautifully, and there is a big garden where he can have his workshop and display his statues. Come and help us make the move."

It was good of her. She was delighted to have the money that had been left to her and to have the approval of her marriage which her mother had implied. In death my grandmother had given us both the help we needed.

So I left Greystone Manor and went with her. The vicarage was a roomy house and the vicar kindly let me have a room until the move to Wisteria Cottage could be arranged.

Aunt Grace did a lot for me in those weeks. She and Charles talked to me a great deal and we planned what I should do. There was no need for me to take some uncongenial post now. I was a free woman and I needed time, said Aunt Grace, to decide how I should live.

Fate decided for me.

I was in Charles's shed sorting out some books for him when I heard footsteps outside. I went to the door, and to my amazement and delight there stood Daisy.

She had changed since I last saw her; she had grown plumper, but her cheeks were as rosy as ever and the mischief still sparkled in her eyes. As though to show her pleasure and that it was an extremely happy occasion, she favoured me with one of the winks I remembered so well.

"Miss Pip!" she said.

"Oh, Daisy!" I cried and we hugged each other fiercely. "So you've come home ... at last."

"Only on a visit. The servants are up at the Grange-preparing it like they always do. I came with them. Hans isn't with me, but he let me come with them. He said I deserved to see my own folks and it was only right for me to. He's had to stay behind. He's got an important job now. I'm married, you know. Frau Schmidt, that's me. What do you think of that? Hans made an honest woman of me ... when young Hans was born. I'm a mother now. Think of that, Miss Pip. You never saw a little man like my Hansie. He's a regular tartar, I can tell you."

"Daisy, when are you going to stop for breath? Do you mean to say they're opening up the Grange?"

"Somebody will be coming over soon. Not sure when, but it has to be all ready and prepared."

"And you ..."

"Oh, I'm not one of the servants now. Frau Schmidt, that's me. I'll stay here till some of the servants go back, and I'll go back with them. But first tell me—what about you? And that old man ... dead now. Well, I don't think he'll get quite the welcome he's expecting from the angels."

"You heard about it, did you?"

"Haven't heard of anything else."

"Daisy, they suspect me."

"Not my Ma don't. Nor Pa. They said that old tartar got out of bed in a rage and got what he deserved. Mind you, you mustn't speak ill of the dead, they say, but in his case I reckon it's allowed. I won't ever forget standing in that chapel in what he called my shame ... and all for having a bit of fun in the churchyard. But that's all done with. What about you, Miss Pip? How many years is it since I saw you?"

"Too many. It must be five. I was twelve when you and Francine went away, and I'm seventeen now."

"I'd hardly have known you. Quite grown up, you are. Just a little shaver you was then."

"Daisy, what do you know about Francine?"

"Oh." Her face was solemn momentarily. "That was a bit of a scandal, that was. I cried myself to sleep when I heard of it. I used to think she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen—or ever likely to—and to think of her getting murdered ..."

"I want to know what happened, Daisy."

"Well, it was in this shooting lodge. That's where they were at the time. It was never cleared up. Who killed them we don't know. It wasn't anything to do with Miss Francine. She was just there with him ... when they came to kill him ... and because she was with him they killed her too."

"Who could have done it?"

"Now you're asking me. If they don't know, how could I?"

"Who's they?"

"All the army ... and the reigning family and the police ... all of them."

"It's been such a mystery to me and I want you to tell me all you know. Come into the shed. There's no one here. My aunt and her husband are at Wisteria Cottage getting ready to move in."

"Oh, I heard about that. What a change-about eh? Miss Grace getting married and all. She ought to have done it years ago."

"I'm glad she did before she got the money. She had to break away, as I did. But sit down, Daisy, and tell me all you know about my sister."

"Well, she went off, didn't she?"

"Yes, yes," I said impatiently.

"And the Grafin and Graf and her household went off and I got my job with them ... so off I goes. It's a wonderful place if you like that sort of thing. The trees and mountains ... oh, it's beautiful. I get a bit homesick at times though for the fields and the hedges and the lanes and the buttercups and daisies. But Hans was there, and me and Hans-well, we get on together a treat. It's funny. He laughs at me —the way I try to say their words—but I can laugh at him for saying ours. We like it."

"So you are happily married. I am so pleased. And you have that adorable little Hans. But what do you know about my sister?"