Two
At 19, Wilbraham Crescent the machinery¹ of the Law was in possession. There was a policesurgeon, a police photographer, fingerprint² men. They moved efficiently³, each occupied with hisown routine.
Finally came Detective Inspector⁴ Hardcastle, a tall, pokerfaced man with expressive⁵ eyebrows⁶,godlike, to see that all he had put in motion was being done, and done properly. He took a finallook at the body, exchanged a few brief words with the police surgeon and then crossed to thedining room where three people sat over empty teacups. Miss Pebmarsh, Colin Lamb and a tallgirl with brown curling hair and wide, frightened eyes. “Quite pretty,” the inspector noted,parenthetically as it were.
He introduced himself to Miss Pebmarsh.
“Detective Inspector Hardcastle.”
He knew a little about Miss Pebmarsh, though their paths had never crossed professionally. Buthe had seen her about, and he was aware that she was an ex-schoolteacher, and that she had a jobconnected with the teaching of Braille at the Aaronberg Institute for handicapped children. Itseemed wildly unlikely that a man should be found murdered in her neat, austere⁷ house—but theunlikely happened more often than one would be disposed to believe.
“This is a terrible thing to have happened, Miss Pebmarsh,” he said. “I’m afraid it must havebeen a great shock to you. I’ll need to get a clear statement of exactly what occurred from you all.
I understand that it was Miss—” he glanced quickly at the notebook the constable⁸ had handed him,“Sheila Webb who actually discovered the body. If you’ll allow me to use your kitchen, MissPebmarsh, I’ll take Miss Webb in there where we can be quiet.”
He opened the connecting door from the dining room to the kitchen and waited until the girl hadpassed through. A young plainclothes detective was already established in the kitchen, writingunobtrusively at a Formica-topped small table.

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