lue eyes a little wider open than usual, and waited for her to speak.
She looked before her steadily, but not with the eyes of a woman who
dreams; Mrs. Wilder was thinking definitely, and while Hartley waited,
her mind travelled at speed across years and came to a halt at the
moment where she now found herself, and from that moment she looked out
forcefully into the future.

Usually, in the tragic instants of life there is very little time for
thought before the need for action forces the will, with relentless
hands. Clarice Wilder knew as well as she knew anything that her
position was one of some peril, and that much more than she could weigh
or measure at that moment lay beyond the next spoken word. She was
telling herself to be careful, steadying her nerve and reining in a
desire to pour out a flood of circumstantial evidence, calculated to
convince the Head of the Police.

If there is one thing more than another that the man or the woman driven
against the ropes should avoid, it is prolixity; the snare that catches
craft in its own net. Clarice Wilder desired to be overpowering,
redundant and extreme in the wordy proof of her innocence of purpose
that evening of July the 29th, but she held back and waited steadfastly
until she was quite sure of herself again, and then she turned her head
and glanced at Hartley with a smile.

"How silent you are," she said gently.

Hartley flushed and looked self-conscious.

"To be quite candid, that was what I was thinking of you," he replied
awkwardly.

"What were we saying?" went on Mrs. Wilder. "Oh, of course, I remember.
You thought I could tell you something about poor Mr. Heath, didn't you?
I only wish I could, but it was so long ago. I do remember the evening.
It was very hot and I rode along by the river to get some fresh air,"
her eyes grew hazy. "I can remember thinking that Mangadone looked as if
it was a great ball of amber, with the sun shining through it, but as
for being able to tell you what Mr. Heath was doing, or who he was with,
it is impossible. You should have pinned me down to it the day you
called on me, when this troublesome little boy first went off." She
gathered up the reins, and Hartley mounted reluctantly. "I am so sorry.
I would love to be able to help you, but I cannot remember."

If Hartley had been asked on oath how it was that Mrs. Wilder had led
him clean away from the subject under discussion, to something
infinitely more satisfying and i