Josephine nodded in a bored kind of way.
"Mother told me. Anyway, I knew it already."
"Do you mean you heard it in the hospital?"
"No, I mean I knew that grandfather had left his money to Sophia.
I heard him tell her so."
"Were you listening again?"
"Yes. I like listening."
"It's a disgraceful thing to do, and remember this, listeners hear no good of themselves."
Josephine gave me a peculiar glance.
"I heard what he said about me to her, if that's what you mean."
She added: "Nannie gets wild if she catches me listening at doors.
She says it's not the sort of thing a little lady does."
"She's quite right."
"Pooh," said Josephine. "Nobody's a lady nowadays.
They say so on the Brains Trust.
They said it was - ob-so-lete." She pronounced the word carefully.
I changed the subject.
"You've got home a bit late for the big event," I said.
"Chief Inspector Taverner has arrested Brenda and Laurence."
I expected that Josephine, in her character of young detective, would be thrilled by this information, but she merely repeated in her maddening bored fashion:
"Yes, I know."
"You can't know. It's only just happened."
"The car passed us on the road.
Inspector Taverner and the detective with the suede shoes were inside with Brenda and Laurence, so of course I knew they must have been arrested.
I hope he gave them the proper caution.
You have to, you know."
I assured her that Taverner had acted strictly according to etiquette.
"I had to tell him about the letters," I said apologetically. "I found them behind the cistern.
I'd have let you tell him only you were knocked out."
Josephine's hand went gingerly to her head.
"I ought to have been killed," she said with complacency. "I told you it was about the time for the second murder.
The cistern was a rotten place to hide those letters.
I guessed at once when I saw Laurence coming out of there one day.
I mean he's not a useful kind of man who does things with ball taps, or pipes or fuses, so I knew he must have been hiding something."
"But I thought -" I broke off as Edith de Haviland's voice called authoritatively: "Josephine. Josephine, come here at once."
Josephine sighed.
"More fuss," she said.
"But I'd better go.
You have to, if it's Aunt Edith."
She ran across the lawn. I followed more slowly.
After a brief interchange of words Josephine went into the house. I joined Edith de Haviland on the terrace.
This morning she looked fully her age.
I was startled by the lines of weariness and suffering on her face.
She looked exhausted and defeated.
She saw the concern in my face and tried to smile.
"That child seems none the worse for her adventure," she said. "We must look after her better in future.
Still - I suppose now it won't be necessary?" She sighed and said: "I'm glad it's over.
But what an exhibition.
If you are arrested for murder, you might at least have some dignity.
I've no patience with people like Brenda who go to pieces and squeal.