II
I rang Hardcastle.
“Yes,” he said in answer to my questions. “It’s just as they say.”
His voice sounded hard and bitter.
“I went to see her night before last. I told her her story about the scar just wouldn’t jell. That thescar tissue was comparatively recent. Funny how people slip up. Just by trying to overdo¹ things.
Somebody paid that woman to identify the corpse² as being that of her husband, who ran out on heryears ago.
“Very well she did it, too! I believed her all right. And then whoever it was tried to be a littletoo clever. If she remembered that unimportant little scar as an afterthought, it would carryconviction and clinch³ the identification. If she had plumped out with it straight away, it might havesounded a bit too glib⁴.”
“So Merlina Rival was in it up to the neck?”
“Do you know, I rather doubt that. Suppose an old friend or acquaintance goes to her and says:
‘Look here, I’m in a bit of a spot. A chap I’ve had business dealings with has been murdered. Ifthey identify him and all our dealings come to light, it will be absolute disaster. But if you were tocome along and say it’s that husband of yours, Harry⁵ Castleton, who did a bunk⁶ years ago, thenthe whole case will peter out.’”
“Surely she’d jib at that—say it was too risky⁷?”
“If so, that someone would say: ‘What’s the risk? At the worst, you’ve made a mistake. Anywoman can make a mistake after fifteen years.’ And probably at that point a nice little sum wouldhave been mentioned. And she says O.K. she’ll be a sport! and do it.”
“With no suspicions?”
“She wasn’t a suspicious woman. Why, good lord, Colin, every time we catch a murderer thereare people who’ve known him well, and simply can’t believe he could do anything like that!”

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