Death of a Beauty Queen by E.R. Punshon

had a temper of her own; of how she had been heard to cry out passionately that she could kill Carrie for playing her such a mean trick; of how she had then rushed off to tell Carrie exactly what she thought about it.
    He stole a look at her as they all three went along the corridors to the little room where Mitchell waited. There was a certain lightness, almost a fragility, about the girl that did not suggest the murderess, and yet the lines of that close-shut mouth, and a certain air of resolution that marked her grave, dark beauty, suggested one who could take strong determined action if need arose. And murder’s a thing so soon done; death a finality so easily achieved. A weapon ready to hand, a gust of passion such as it was said this girl’s calm demeanour hid, a blow aimed with small intention, and there’s tragedy ready made.
    So Bobby mused to himself as he opened the door of the room where Mitchell waited, and all three of them went in together.

CHAPTER EIGHT
Lily Ellis’s Story
    However, before he began to ask them any questions, Mitchell succeeded in putting both Lily and her aunt much more at their ease. It was the elder lady in whom at first he seemed most interested, fussing about a cushion for her back, about her chair being out of a draught, and so on, till Lily began to feel that after all no such importance and significance attached to this summons to her as she had at first feared.
    Only when Mrs Francis, a stout little elderly lady, wearing a very badly applied make-up of powder and lipstick and rouge she was not in the least used to, and a hat in the new pancake style that could not possibly have suited her worse, was at last comfortably settled, did Mitchell turn to Lily, as if suddenly remembering her presence.
    â€˜Now then, Miss Ellis,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Now that’s all right, I’m sure you won’t mind telling us what you know about this affair.’
    â€˜But I don’t know anything – anything at all,’ protested Lily, quickly nervous again.
    â€˜That’s just what no one can be sure of,’ Mitchell assured her. ‘It’s extraordinary how much people who think they don’t know anything can tell us at times. Often small details they hardly even know they know turn out the most important. We’ll begin about yourself, shall we?’
    A few leading questions soon elicited details of the girl’s birth, education, present circumstances, her hope of obtaining the post of leading mannequin at the Brush Hill Bon Marché, the difference such an appointment would make in a home where there was an ailing mother and two small brothers.
    â€˜If you had won the competition to-night, it would have meant a good deal to you then,’ Mitchell observed, with a certain reluctance in his voice as though the point were not one he much wished to make.
    Oh, yes, ’ Lily agreed eagerly. ‘Or even being second or third. I didn’t expect to be first exactly, but I knew if I came out near the top it would most likely be all right and I should be taken on.’
    â€˜If we hadn’t been sure she would be the winner – that is, if the judges had eyes in their heads,’ Mrs Francis interposed firmly, ‘never would any of us have agreed to her entering. In my young days no self-respecting girl would ever have dreamed of such a thing, but Lily has her mother to think of and the boys, and there’s so little we can do to help with business what it is.’
    â€˜Everyone must understand that,’ Mitchell agreed, checking a flow of explanation that seemed likely to continue for some time.
    He was looking grim and uneasy at the same time. There was one point established. Winning the competition had meant more to Lily Ellis than a mere gratification of feminine vanity – more even that vague hopes of future success. It had meant being able to provide better for those dependent on her. His fingers beat