Nine
I
Outwardly cool and unperturbed, Stephen Farraday had turned into Great
Scotland Yard full of inner shrinking. An intolerable weight burdened his
spirits. It had seemed that morning as though things were going so well.
Why had Inspector¹ Kemp asked for his presence here with such signific-
ance? What did he know or suspect? It could be only vague suspicion. The
thing to do was to keep one’s head and admit nothing.
He felt strangely bereft² and lonely without Sandra. It was as though
when the two faced a peril³ together it lost half its terrors. Together they
had strength, courage, power. Alone, he was nothing, less than nothing.
And Sandra, did she feel the same? Was she sitting now in Kidderminster
House, silent, reserved, proud and inwardly feeling horribly vulnerable?
Inspector Kemp received him pleasantly but gravely. There was a uni-
formed man sitting at a table with a pencil and a pad of paper. Having
asked Stephen to sit down, Kemp spoke⁴ in a strongly formal manner.
“I propose, Mr. Farraday, to take a statement from you. That statement
will be written down and you will be asked to read it over and sign it be-
fore⁵ you leave. At the same time it is my duty to tell you that you are at
liberty to refuse to make such a statement and that you are entitled to
have your solicitor⁶ present if you so desire.”
Stephen was taken aback but did not show it. He forced a wintry smile.
“That sounds very formidable, chief inspector.”
“We like everything to be clearly understood, Mr. Farraday.”
“Anything I say may be used against me, is that it?”
“We don’t use the word against. Anything you say will be liable to be
used in evidence.”
Stephen said quietly:
“I understand, but I cannot imagine, inspector, why you should need
any further statement from me? You heard all I had to say this morning.”
“That was a rather informal session—useful as a preliminary starting-

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