Chapter EightThere was one of those silences which are not noticed because thought talks so loudly. Murder is a word to which no amount of use can quite accustom us. The voice of blood calling from the earth must always be a dreadful voice, and one before which all others fall to silence.
Randall March broke this one, his voice dry and official as he said,
“What proof have you that it was murder?”
Miss Silver picked up her needles and began to knit again very composedly. She said,
“I have no proof. But I have a good many interesting things to tell you. To begin with, I am here in my professional capacity because Roger Pilgrim believed that two attempts had been made upon his life.”
“What were they?”
She told him very succinctly.
“You can go and look at the two rooms for yourself. Th
