Free He Who Whispers by John Dickson Carr Page B

it suddenly occurred to Miles, as he watched his two companions, that history was repeating itself. There could be no persons more conventional, better representing the traditions of home life, than Marion Hammond and Stephen Curtis. Exactly as Fay Seton had been introduced into the Brooke family six years ago, she would now enter another such household.
    History repeating itself. Yes.
    Marion and Stephen exchanged a glance. Marion laughed.
    â€˜Well, I don’t know,’ she observed, in the musing tone of a woman not altogether displeased. ‘It might be rather fun, in a way.’
    â€˜ Fun ?’ exclaimed Stephen.
    â€˜Did you tell her, Miles, to be sure to bring her ration-book?’
    â€˜No,’ His tone was bitter. ‘I’m afraid that detail escaped me.’
    â€˜Never mind, dear. We can always …’ Abruptly Marion sat up, a flash of consternation in her hazel eyes under the sensible straight brows. ‘Miles! Wait! This woman didn’t poison anybody?’
    â€˜My dear Marion,’ said Stephen, ‘will you please tell me what difference it makes whether she poisoned anybody or shot anybody or beat in some old man’s head with a poker? The point is –’
    â€˜Just a minute,’ interposed Miles quietly. He tried to be very quiet, very measured, and to control the thumping of his pulses. ‘I didn’t say this girl was a murderess. On the contrary, if I have any judgement of human character, she certainly isn’t anything of the kind.’
    â€˜Yes, dear,’ Marion said indulgently, and leaned across the tea-service to pat his hand. ‘I’m sure you’re quite convinced of that.’
    â€˜God damn it, Marion, will you stop misjudging my motives in this thing?’
    â€˜Miles! Please!’ Marion clucked her tongue, more from force of habit than anything else. ‘We’re in a public place.’
    â€˜Yes,’ agreed Stephen. ‘Better lower your voice, old boy.’
    â€˜All right, all right! Only …’
    â€˜Here!’ soothed Marion, and poured tea with deftness. ‘Take this, and try one of the cakes. There! Isn’t that better? This interesting lady of yours, Miles: how old did you say she was?’
    â€˜In her early thirties, I should think.’
    â€˜And going out as a librarian? How is it the Labour Exchange hasn’t got her?’
    â€˜She’s only just been repatriated from France.’
    â€˜From France? Really? I wonder if she’s brought over any French perfume with her?’
    â€˜Come to think of it,’ said Miles, who in fact could remember it quite well, ‘she was wearing some kind of perfume this morning. I happened to notice.’
    â€˜We want to hear all about her past history, Miles. There’s plenty of time, and we can save an extra cup of tea for her in case she turns up soon. It wasn’t poison? You’re sure of that? Steve, darling! – you’re not having any tea!’
    â€˜ Listen !’ said Stephen, at last in the authoritative voice of one who calls for the floor.
    Picking up his pipe from the table, he twisted at it and thrust it bowl-upwards into his breast-pocket.
    â€˜What I can’t understand,’ he complained, ‘is how all this came about. Do they keep murderers at the Murder Club, or what? All right, Miles! Don’t get on your high horse! I like to get my facts in order, that’s all. How long will it take Miss What-is-it to put the books in order? A week or so?’
    Miles grinned at him.
    â€˜Properly to catalogue that library, Steve, with all the cross-referencing of the old books, will take between two and three months.’
    Even Marion looked startled.
    â€˜Well,’ murmured Stephen, after a pause, ‘Miles will always do exactly what he wants to do. So that’s all right. But I can’t go back to Greywood with you this evening …’
    â€˜You can’t go back