Chapter ThirtyIt was at a little after six o’clock on Saturday evening that the telephone bell rang in Miss Silver’s sitting-room. She lifted the receiver and heard an unknown male voice say with a trace of country accent,
‘Can I speak to Miss Silver?’
She gave her slight preliminary cough.
‘Miss Silver speaking.’
‘Miss Maud Silver—the private enquiry agent?’
‘Yes.’
The voice said, ‘My name is Tattlecombe—Abel Tattlecombe. Does that convey anything to you?’
‘Certainly, Mr. Tattlecombe.’
At his end of the line Abel ran a hand through his thick grey hair. Not having Miss Silver’s address, he had had to pick her out from among all the other Silvers in the telephone-book, and there was always the chance that he might have picked the wrong one. He felt a good deal of relief, and was abl
