“I’m sorry, too, for disturbing you.
I expect you were busy writing.”
“I was, as a matter of fact.”
“Another play?”
“Yes.
To tell you the truth, I thought of using some of the characters at the house-party at Melfort Abbey.”
“What about libel?”
“That’s quite all right, Sir Charles, I find people never recognise themselves.” She giggled. “Not if, as you said just now, one is really merciless.”
“You mean,” said Sir Charles, “that we all have an exaggerated idea of our own personalities and don’t recognise the truth if it’s sufficiently brutally portrayed.
I was quite right, Miss Wills, you are a cruel woman.”
Miss Wills tittered. “You needn’t be afraid, Sir Charles.
Women aren’t usually cruel to men - unless it’s some particular man - they’re only cruel to other women.”
“Meaning you’ve got your analytical knife into some unfortunate female.
Which one?
Well, perhaps I can guess.
Cynthia’s not beloved by her own sex.”
Miss Wills said nothing. She continued to smile - rather a catlike smile.
“Do you write your stuff or dictate it?”
“Oh, I write it and send it to be typed.”
“You ought to have a secretary.”
“Perhaps.
Have you still got that clever Miss - Miss Milray, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, I’ve got Miss Milray.
She went away for a time to look after her mother in the country, but she’s back again now.
Most efficient woman.”
“So I should think.
Perhaps a little impulsive.”
“Impulsive?
Miss Milray?”
Sir Charles stared.
Never in his wildest flights of fancy had he associated impulse with Miss Milray.
“Only on occasions, perhaps,” said Miss Wills.
Sir Charles shook his head.
“Miss Milray’s the perfect robot.
Good-bye, Miss Wills.
Forgive me for bothering you, and don’t forget to let the police know about that thingummybob.”
“The mark on the butler’s right wrist?
No, I won’t forget.”
“Well, good-bye - half a sec - did you say right wrist?
You said left just now.”
“Did I?
How stupid of me.”
“Well, which was it?”
Miss Wills frowned and half closed her eyes.
“Let me see. I was sitting so - and he - would you mind, Sir Charles, handing me that brass plate as though it was a vegetable dish.
Left side.”
Sir Charles presented the beaten brass atrocity as directed.
“Cabbage, madam?”
“Thank you,” said Miss Wills. “I’m quite sure now. It was the left wrist, as I said first.
Stupid of me.”