CHAPTER 27As soon as Maisie Traill had gone out Constable May came back.
“There’s someone here from Deeping, sir. Says she knows who did the murders. Name of Ripley.”
Frank Abbott’s lips drew up in a soundless whistle. He had typed the name within the last few hours, and had an unfortunate recollection of its significance. He looked across at the Chief Inspector as May retreated and murmured,
“Hathaway’s house-parlourmaid—”
She came in in her uniform dress with a winter coat thrown over it. She had done the three and a half miles from Deepside on her bicycle. Like Maisie Traill she was bare-headed, but the contrast in looks could hardly have been more extreme. They were both women, that was all you could say. The night air had added its damp to the lank, plastered strands of Agnes Ripl
