CHAPTER XXXIMiss Silver broke the ensuing silence with a little cough.
‘Mr Paradine, can you tell us just what was on the writing-table when you were here on Wednesday night?’
A faint surprise showed itself in his face.
‘What do you mean?’
She said, ‘Just try to visualise the table as you saw it then, and tell me as many of the things on it as you can remember.’
His frown this time was one of concentration.
‘I don’t know—I wasn’t noticing. I should say it was all very much as it is now.’
‘Pray go on, Mr Paradine. Just name the things. You may find yourself recalling something.’
The frown deepened, contradicted by a half humorous, half impatient lift of the lip. He said,
‘Well, all the things you see—inkstand—pen—pencils—blotting-pad—writing-block——’
‘That is something which is no
