"Then you're going to come across with what you know. You're going to tell me all about it - now."
"Shan't."
"You've got to.
Every bit of information you've got or ferret out has got to be given to the police."
"I won't tell the police anything.
They're stupid.
They thought Brenda had done it - or Laurence.
I wasn't stupid like that.
I knew jolly well they hadn't done it.
I've had an idea who it was all along, and then I made a kind of test - and now I know I'm right." She finished on a triumphant note.
I prayed to Heaven for patience and started again.
"Listen, Josephine, I daresay you're extremely clever -" Josephine looked gratified.
"But it won't be much good to you to be clever if you're not alive to enjoy the fact.
Don't you see, you little fool, that as long as you keep your secrets in this silly way you're in imminent danger?"
Josephine nodded approvingly.
"Of course I am."
"Already you've had two very narrow escapes.
One attempt nearly did for you. The other has cost somebody else their life.
Don't you see if you go on strutting about the house and proclaiming at the top of your voice you know who the killer is, there will be more attempts made - and that either you'll die or somebody else will?"
"In some books person after person is killed," Josephine informed me with gusto. "You end by spotting the murderer because he or she is practically the only person left."
"This isn't a detective story.
This is Three Gables, Swinly Dean, and you're a silly little girl who's read more than is good for her.
I'll make you tell me what you know if I have to shake you till your teeth rattle."
"I could always tell you something that wasn't true."
"You could, but you won't.
What are you waiting for, anyway?"
"You don't understand," said Josephine. "Perhaps I may never tell.
You see, I might be - fond of the person."
She paused as though to let this sink in.
"And if I do tell," she went on, "I shall do it properly.
I shall have everybody sitting round, and then I'll go over it all - with the clues, and then I shall say, quite suddenly:
"And it was you..." She thrust out a dramatic forefinger just as Edith de Haviland entered the room.
"Put that core in the waste paper basket, Josephine," said Edith. "Have you got a handkerchief?
Your fingers are sticky.
I'm taking you out in the car."
Her eyes met mine with significance as she said:
"She'll be safer out of here for the next hour or so." As Josephine looked mutinous, Edith added: "We'll go into Longbridge and have an ice cream soda."
Josephine's eyes brightened and she said:
"Two."
"Perhaps," said Edith.
"Now go and get your hat and coat on and your dark blue scarf.
It's cold out today.
Charles, you had better go with her while she gets them.
Don't leave her.
I have just a couple of notes to write."
She sat down at the desk, and I escorted Josephine out of the room.
Even without Edith's warning, I would have stuck to Josephine like a leech.
I was convinced that there was danger to the child very near at hand.
As I finished superintending Josephine's toilet, Sophia came into the room.
She seemed astonished to see me.