Miss Unwin was just setting off down the stairs with him when she realised that below in the hall the Sergeant was conducting what was presumably the last of the interviews, with the youngest and least in the household, John the page. ‘One moment, Pelham dear,’ she said. ‘I think the police sergeant is in the hall. We won’t disturb him. You can sit on the top step there for a little.’ Obediently Pelham sat himself down. Miss Unwin, as if she was not quite thinking what she was doing, descended a few steps more. She very much wanted to hear what was being said in the hall. If this was the end of all the Sergeant’s questioning she might very likely learn from anything she could glean whether he had finally come to the conclusion that he now had a cast-iron case against Ephraim Brattle. That would at last finally put her fears to rest. There was another small consideration, too, that persuaded her into the unladylike action of eavesdropping. On that first fatal night when the Sergeant had conducted his questioning in the dining-room young John had been frightened almost out of his wits.
