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dhewalkedovertoSymfordthatnight,andgettingthereaboutoneo'clockmurderedMrs.Jones.Iwillnotenterintodetails.Ibelieveitwasquitesimple.Hewasbackbysixnextmorningwiththefivepoundsinhispocket,andhiswifethatdayhadmeatfordinner. ThatisallIshallsayaboutthemurderer,exceptthathewasneverfoundoutandnothingshallinducemetodwelluponthemurder.ButwhatabouttheeffectithadonPriscilla?Well,itabsolutelycrushedher. Thedaybefore,afterMrs.Morrison'svisit,shehadbeenwretchedenough,spendingmostofitwalkingveryfast,asdrivenspiritsdo,withFritzingformilesacrossthebleakandblowymoor,byturnscontriteandrebellious,onemomentreadytoadmitshewasamiserablesinner,thenextindignantlyrepudiatingMrs.Morrison'sandherownconscience'saccusations,hersoulmuchbeatenandbentbywindsofmisgivingbutstillonitsfeet,stilldefiant,stillshelteringitselfwhenitcouldbehindplaincommonsensewhichwhisperedatintervalsthatallthathadhappenedwasonlybadluck.Theywalkedmilesthatdayofteninsilence,sometimesingustytalk—talkgustywiththeswiftchangesofPriscilla'smoodscuddingacrosstheleadenbackgroundofFritzing'ssteadierdespair—andtheygotbacktired,hungry,theirclothessplashedwithmud,theirmindsnonearerlightthanwhentheystarted.Shehad,Isay,beenwretchedenoughbutwhatwasthiswretchednesstothatwhichfollowed?Inherignoranceshethoughtittheworstdayshehadeverhad,themosttormentedandwhenshewenttobedshesoughtcomfortinitsverybadnessbytellingherselfthatitwasoverandcouldnevercomeagain.Itcouldnot.ButTimeisprolificofsurprisesandonSaturdaymorningSymfordwokewithashuddertothemurderofMrs.Jones. NowsuchathingasthishadnothappenedinthatpartofSomersetshirewithinthememoryoflivingman,andthoughSymfordshuddereditwasalsoproudandpleased.Themixedfeelingofhorror,pleasure,andpridewasathrillingone.Itfeltitselfatonceraisedtoapositionofluridconspicuousnessinthecounty,itsnamewouldbeineverymouth,thepapers,perhapseventheLondonpapers,wouldtalkaboutit.Atalltimes,inspiteofthecareandguidanceithadhadfromtheclergyandgentry,theaccountofamurdergaveSymfordmorepurepleasurethananyotherformofentertainmentandnowherewasone,notatsecond-hand,nottobeviewedthroughthecoolingmediumofprintandpictures,butinitsmidst,beforeitseyes,atitsverydoors.Mrs.Joneswentupstrangelyinitsestimation.Thegeneralfeelingwasthatitwasanhonourtohaveknownher.Nobodyworkedthatday.Theschoolwasdeserted.Dinnerswerenotcooked.Babiesshriekeduncomforted.AllSymfordwasgatheredingroupsoutsideMrs.Jones'scottage,andasthedayworeonandthenewsspread,visitorsfromtheneighbouringvillages,fromMineheadandfromUllerton,arrivedwithsandwichesandswelledthem. Priscillasawthesegroupsfromherwindows.Thefatalcottagewasatthefootofthehillinfullviewbothofherbedroomandherparlour.Onlybysittinginthebathroomwouldshebeabletogetawayfromit.Whenthenewswasbroughther,breathlessly,pallidly,byAnnaliseintheearlymorningwithherhotwater,sherefusedtobelieveit.AnnaliseknewnoEnglishandmusthavegotholdofahorriblewrongtale.Theoldladywasdeadnodoubt,haddiedquietlyinhersleepashadbeenexpected,butwhatfollywasallthisaboutamurder?YetshesatupinbedandfeltrathercoldasshelookedatAnnalise,forAnnalisewasverypallid.Andthenatlastshehadtobelieveit.Annalisehadhadittoldherfrombeginningtoend,with