Later there were questions. Two men had come to see me. My father explained. “They are from the police. You see, you were the who one found her…you and the house agent. The general opinion seems to be that it was some madman. Someone sheltering in the house perhaps, who did not want to be disturbed.”

“But other people must have looked at it. And how did she get in? The house agent had the key.”

“We don’t know yet,” said my father. “However, you’ll have to talk to the police. I don’t suppose they will be here long.”

“We are sorry to disturb you, Miss Greenham,” said one of them. “Just a few questions. Mrs. Merrivale was a great friend of yours, wasn’t she?”

“Oh, yes. Our families have been close all our lives.”

“And you were going to look over the house with her?”

“Yes.”

“She did not arrive at the appointed time of two-thirty.”

“That is so. I cannot understand how she got into the house. The agent was to have let us in with the key.”

“He it was who took you in.”

“Yes. We thought we might as well go in. We left the door open so that when she came she would see we were there.”

“Do you know any reason why she should have arrived before the appointed time?”

“No. And I still can’t imagine how she got into the house.”

“She was let in by someone. Possibly the murderer.”

“You mean…the murderer was in the house?”

“It may have been a trap. As a matter of fact, there was a broken window which had not been noticed before. It could have been that someone was in the house waiting for her…someone who let her in and posed as the house agent. Did Mrs. Merrivale not say anything to you about the appointment’s having been changed to an earlier time?”

“No. If she had, I should have been there earlier.”

“Naturally. Well, I don’t think there is anything further at the moment, Miss Greenham.”

I was glad when they went.

My father came into the room. He was very disturbed.

“It is so mysterious,” he said. “Poor girl! What a dreadful end…and she so young.”

“She was happy. She thought she was going to have a baby.”

“How tragic!”

“And Marcus?”

“He’s having a bad time. He’s had a grueling by the police. Heaven knows what this will do to his career.”

“Do you mean they suspect him?”

“In cases like this, the husband is always the first suspect.”

“But they were so happy together.”

“That won’t stop suspicion. Oh, Lucinda, I wish you were not involved in this!”

I felt sick and bemused.

My father said that the doctor’s opinion was that, as I had had a terrible shock, I should rest for a while in my room.

How could I rest? I could only think of Annabelinda entering that house…that strange, eerie, empty house, as it had become in my imagination, and meeting her assassin.

I wished I had been with her. How was I to know that she was going to be early? Why had she? Why had she told me to meet her there at two-thirty? What had made her go early? She must have had some message. And why? Because someone was lying in wait for her…to kill her.

The answer to that question was not long delayed. Mrs. Kelloway, Annabelinda’s housekeeper, was able to supply vital information.

Someone had called at the house during the day Annabelinda had met her death. He had seemed in a great hurry and said he came from Messrs. Partington & Pike about the house in Beconsdale Square. He had waited at the door and asked if Mrs. Kelloway would take a message to Mrs. Merrivale.

Mrs. Kelloway had invited him in, an offer which he declined.

“Excuse me,” he had said very politely. “But I am pressed for time.” He spoke in a funny way, she said. “Not quite natural. It might have been from another part of the country,” but it was not familiar to her. He had insisted on waiting at the door until she took the message, which was could Mrs. Merrivale be at the house half an hour earlier, at two o’clock. He had a quick call to make and he was going straight there. He had got a little hung up with his appointments and he was afraid he would not be able to spend as much time with Mrs. Merrivale as he would have liked to if she could not meet him at the earlier time. He just wanted to know if she could oblige.

“Mrs. Merrivale was at the top of the stairs when I called to her, and I told her what he had said. She said she’d be there. He said he was grateful, then he hurried off before she could get down the stairs. Mrs. Merrivale said there wasn’t time to let Miss Greenham know, but it would be all right. She would already be there when Miss Greenham arrived.”

Mrs. Kelloway had assumed great importance. She was proving of inestimable value to the police. She was the only one who had seen the man who had most likely murdered Annabelinda.

The house agents quickly confirmed that Mr. Partington was the man in charge of that particular house, that he was the only one from the firm who had arranged to meet Mrs. Merrivale and that the appointment was for two-thirty.

When pressed for a description of the man, Mrs. Kelloway again proved her worth. She could not say what age he was. He had a beard that covered over half of his face. He seemed young in a way, but the beard gave him a middle-aged look. But there was one important clue. He was holding some papers in his hand and as he was talking to her he dropped them.

She stooped to pick them up and so did he, and as he did so, she saw the fingers on his hand very clearly. There was something odd about them…something different. One of his fingers looked what she called “a bit funny.” It seemed as though part of one of them was missing.

How grateful they were to Mrs. Kelloway! She had become a celebrity overnight.

Soon the press was interviewing her. We had headlines: “Who Is the Mystery Man in the Case of the Empty House Murder?” “Police Seeking Man with Maimed Hand.”

“If Mrs. Kelloway was right about the deformed hand, it should make the search for the murderer easier,” said my father. “But why…why lure her there…to be killed? For what reason? Can you think of any, Lucinda? You knew her well.”

I wondered. I felt I could not uncover her devious past. I seemed to sense her beside me, begging me not to.

Suppose the story of her misdemeanor was brought to light now? What good could it do? Poor Marcus…and his proud family! They were suffering enough already.

What good would it do to tell?

Those were strange days. It was as though a pall hung over us. Aunt Belinda and Uncle Robert came to London. They were very subdued and sad; I had never seen Aunt Belinda like that before. Sir Robert looked bewildered. He loved his children dearly. I wished Robert would come home.

Sir Robert had aged in a few weeks, but it was Aunt Belinda who surprised me. My mother was very gentle with her and they spent a great deal of time together.

Annabelinda was never out of my thoughts. She had lived dangerously, of course, and these were dangerous times. But who could have wanted to lure her to an empty house to kill her?

I was in a dilemma. I could not get out of my mind that Annabelinda had been deeply worried just before her death. I had never seen her like that before. Of course, she had been terrified that Carl would insist on seeing her and possibly try to break up her marriage, but that was no reason for killing her.

I wondered whether I should tell my father or mother and ask advice. I had promised Annabelinda that I would tell no one. How could I break my word now?

I would lie awake at night…wondering.

I had thought that my mother should know who Edward’s parents were. After all, she was his guardian. I tried to convince myself that Annabelinda’s involvement with Carl had nothing whatever to do with her death. But why?

The days passed. We heard that the police were continuing with their inquiries. Mrs. Kelloway was questioned once more, but she had told all she knew. And the mysterious man with the beard and the maimed hand had not materialized.

I think they had begun to wonder whether he existed outside Mrs. Kelloway’s imagination. There was no doubt that she had enjoyed her temporary importance.

I saw Marcus alone when he came to the house to see my father, who was not just then at home.

There was a certain embarrassment between us.

“Oh, Marcus,” I said. “I am so deeply sorry. This is all quite terrible.”

He nodded. He had changed. He must have loved her dearly, I thought. This was more dreadful for him than for any of us. And if there really was to have been a child, it would be a double tragedy.

“How could it have happened, Lucinda?” he said. “You were in her confidence more than anyone else.”

I shook my head. “It is what they are trying to find out.”

“To what purpose? It won’t bring her back.” He looked at me ruefully. “They suspected me.”

“Not now…only just at first.”

“That’s so. I was with people all that day, so they had to eliminate me. Rather reluctantly though.”

“I’m relieved about that. It must have been dreadful for you.”

“Yes, it was.”

I thought of his family. How distressed they would be! They must never know that Edward was Annabelinda’s child. Nor must Marcus. He himself had had a secret family life, but he was arranging that in a manner which was presumably satisfactory to all concerned.

“Lucinda,” he said. “Let us meet sometime. This will all be cleared up one day.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

I was glad when my father came home.

So thus we continued, and the mystery of Annabelinda’s death seemed as far from being solved as it ever had.

Sometimes I walked along Beconsdale Road to the Square. I walked past the gate where I had stood with Mr. Partington and waited for Annabelinda. I glanced at the house. It certainly looked eerie. The shrubs were more overgrown than they had been. The place looked desolate, a house where a murder had taken place—a brutal, unexplained murder of a beautiful young woman by a man with a maimed hand.

Then one day we had a visitor.

When I came into the drawing room I saw him sitting there. I could not believe it. I had not seen him since before the war.

Jean Pascal Bourdon rose as I entered and, advancing toward me, took both my hands in his.

“Lucinda! Why, you are a young lady now…and a beautiful one at that!” He drew me to him and kissed me on both cheeks.

“I have wondered about you,” I stammered. “How…how did you get here?”

“With some difficulty…as was to be expected in wartime. But here I am and it is good to see you. These are terrible times.”

I nodded in agreement.

“This is a great blow. My granddaughter…such a beautiful, vital girl…”

I thought immediately of the adroit way in which he had extricated Annabelinda from her trouble.

“Is the Princesse with you?” I asked.

“Oh, no…no. It was not easy to get here. I have come alone.”

“And she is well?”

“As well as anyone can be in these circumstances. It is not a thing we like…to have an enemy on our land.”

“I understand the situation is getting better.”

“Perhaps. But until we have driven the lot of them out of our country we shall not be content.”

“You came because you have heard of Annabelinda?”

“I heard…yes. It is one reason why I have come. I wish to see your father. It may be that what I have to tell him may be of some importance.”

“He will be here soon.”

“Then we shall talk.”

“What happened to Madame Rochère?”

“Madame Rochère! That great spirit! She stayed as long as she dared. She would have dared further, but she is no fool. Indeed, she is one of the shrewdest ladies I know. There came a time for leaving. She is with us near Bordeaux.”

“And how do you manage there?”

He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands in a despairing gesture. “It is not good. But our day will come.”

“And the school?”

“The school became the enemy’s headquarters, I believe.”

“Will it ever be a school again?”

“Indeed it will. But not in your time, chérie. By that time you will have left your school days long behind.”

When my father arrived, he was delighted to see Jean Pascal.

“I heard you were coming,” he said.

“Ah. The news travels.”

“You did not tell me,” I said. “I should have been so glad to hear it.”