She nodded sideways at him like a child—­a child with withered face and grey hair.

Together they bent over the cards.  A gull flashed past the window with a scream, as though it had seen them and was repelled at the strange sight.

“Only kings can go into vacant spaces,” murmured Barrant’s companion, intent on the game.

The result of the game was inconclusive.  A king remained surrounded by small cards, like a real monarch overwhelmed by the rabble on May Day.  Mrs. Thalassa’s eyes strayed mournfully over the rows, then she gathered up the cards and shuffled them again.

“Do you know any other games of patience?” Barrant asked.

She shook her head.

“Then this is the game you were playing on that night?”

“What night?” she whispered.

“The night Mr. Turold was killed.”

“I don’t want to think of that—­it frightens me.”

She remembered, then!  Her face went grey, but her eyes were alert, watching his.

“Listen to me”—­he spoke very gently—­“I want to help you get rid of your fear and terror, but to do so I must talk to you about that night.  Do you understand?”

The kindness in his voice seemed to reach her feeble consciousness, and she looked at him earnestly.

“Will you try and recollect?”

She seemed to search his eyes for courage, and gave a trembling nod.

“What time was it when you heard the crash upstairs?  Think well.”

She seemed to make an effort to remember.  “I don’t know,” she said at last.

“Think again.  You were playing patience—­the game you have just shown me?”

Her eyes turned to the cards on the table.  “Yes,” she said.

“What time did you commence—­can you think?”

She shook her head.  “I seem to remember it was half-past eight by the kitchen clock when I started my last game.  I was alone in the kitchen then.  The game was just coming out when I heard a crash—­”

She broke off suddenly with a painful sigh and a frightened glance at the hood clock on the wall.

“One game!” Barrant glanced at his watch with, an air of mistrust.  “You mean two, don’t you?”

Her eyes returned to his.  She shook her head with a rapid tremulous motion.  “No!” she exclaimed excitedly.  “One, only one!”

Barrant cast another glance at his watch, which he Still held in his hand.  “You are quite sure you did not play two?” he persisted, with a puzzled glance.

“No, no—­one!” She sprang to her feet excitedly.

“Very well—­one,” acquiesced Barrant soothingly.  “One.  Go on.”

But his effort to calm her came too late.  She cast a wild and fearful glance at the wall behind her, as if there was something there which frightened her.

“How it rings—­how it rings!” Her indistinct utterance grew louder.  “Yes, Jasper, I hear.  Yes, sir, I’m coming.  Where’s the supper tray?”