CHAPTER 38Miss Silver had come down to Hazeldon. One or two points had arisen at the inquest, and she had a strong feeling that Hazeldon would bear to have a magnifying glass turned on it. For one thing, she believed Jimmy Mottingley’s story. She found it impossible to do otherwise. Now, if Miriam Richardson had got up to go at seven o’clock, she must have been there on the Heath a few minutes later—a very few minutes. And Jimmy Mottingley was still in his mother’s drawing-room listening impatiently to her conversation with old Mrs. Marsden at either six-fifteen or six-thirty. To have accomplished the drive in three-quarters of an hour would have been a clear impossibility. To have covered the same distance in a quarter of an hour’s extra time would have been just barely possible. Accordin
