CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXMiss Silver gathered up her knitting and left them to it, but almost at once the Chief Inspector followed her out of the room. When she glanced round and saw him he made what she described to herself as a grimace, walked on as far as the drawing-room door, which he opened, and beckoned her in. When he had shut it again he said confidentially,
‘Well, what did you make of that?’
Miss Silver stood, her hands clasped on the new knitting-bag which her niece Ethel had sent her for her birthday in July—a capacious affair in a chintz with a pattern of honeysuckle and humming-birds. It had been much admired not only by its recipient but by several of her oldest friends. A primrose lining showed here and there where the frill at the top fell over. She took a moment before she sai
