"Well," he said. "It's murder now, right enough. Direct physical action.
The question is, what did the girl know?
Did she say anything to this Partridge?
Anything definite?"
"I don't think so.
But you can ask her."
"Yes, I shall come up and see her when I've finished here."
"What happened exactly?" I asked.
"Or don't you know yet?"
"Near enough.
It was the maids' day out -"
"Both of them?"
"Yes, it seems that there used to be two sisters here who liked to go out together, so Mrs. Symmington arranged it that way.
Then when these two came, she kept to the same arrangement.
They used to have cold supper laid out in the diningroom, and Miss Holland used to get tea."
"I see."
"It's pretty clear up to a point.
The cook, Rose, comes from Nether Mickford, and in order to get there on her day out she has to catch the half-past-two bus.
So Agnes has to finish clearing up lunch always, Rose used to wash up the supper things in the evenings to even things up.
"That's what happened yesterday, Rose went off to catch the bus at two-twenty-five, Symmington left for his office at twenty-five to three.
Elsie Holland and the children went out at a quarter to three.
Megan Hunter went out on her bicycle about five minutes later.
Agnes would then be alone in the house.
As far as I can make out, she normally left the house between three o'clock and half past three."
"The house being then left empty?"
"Oh, they don't worry about that down here.
There's not much locking up done in these parts.
As I say, at ten minutes to three Agnes was alone in the house.
That she never left it is clear, for she was in her cap and apron still when we found her body."
"I suppose you can tell roughly the time of death?"
"Doctor Griffith won't commit himself. Between two o'clock and four-thirty is his official medical verdict."
"How was she killed?"
"She was first stunned by a blow on the back of the head. Afterward an ordinary kitchen skewer, sharpened to a fine point, was thrust into the base of the skull, causing instantaneous death."
I lit a cigarette. It was not a nice picture.
"Pretty cold-blooded," I said.
"Oh, yes, yes, that was indicated."
I inhaled deeply. "Who did it?" I said.
"And why?"
"I don't suppose," said Nash slowly, "that we shall ever know exactly why.
But we can guess."
"She knew something?"
"She knew something."
"She didn't give anyone here a hint?"
"As far as I can make out, no.
She's been upset, so the cook says, ever since Mrs. Symmington's death, and according to this Rose, she's been getting more and more worried, and kept saying she didn't know what she ought to do."
He gave a short exasperated sigh.
"It's always the way.
They won't come to us. They've got that deep-seated prejudice against 'being mixed up with the police.'
If she'd come along and told us what was worrying her, she'd be alive today."
"Didn't she give the other women any hint?"