The Blind Side by Patricia Wentworth

He’s here all the time—bin here ten years. Number two’s Mrs. and Miss Tatterley—went away a week ago. Ladies they are. And number three is the two Miss Holdsworths—and they’re away—bin away since the beginning of July. And that’s the first floor.
    â€œThen second floor. Number five is Mr. and Mrs. Connell—he’s a chartered accountant he is, and she’s a bit of a girl. They’re gone hiking they have—bin away two days. And number four, that’s Miss Lemoine—and she’s gone away with old Lady Trent out of number six—gone abroad. So that finishes the second floor.
    â€œThe third floor’s all Craddocks—Miss Lucy Craddock in number seven, Mr. Ross in here, and Mr. Peter Renshaw in number nine that was Miss Mary Craddock’s flat until she died three weeks ago. And Miss Lucy, she went off on a foreign cruise yesterday evening, and Miss Lee Fenton she come in with her aunt’s key, so it’s her that’s in number seven now.”
    â€œMiss Fenton came in last night?”
    â€œRound about seven-thirty it would be, and Miss Lucy’d bin gone some time, and Miss Lee Fenton she’d got her aunt’s key—met her at the station, she said, and come in to stay till Miss Lucy gets back. And Mr. Renshaw, he’s settling up Miss Lucy’s affairs. Army officer he is, and Miss Mary’s executor. That’s the third floor.
    â€œFourth floor. Potters have ten and eleven—Mr. and Mrs. in eleven, governess and three children in ten. They went off to the sea first of August. Number twelve’s Miss Bingham. She got back day before yesterday, and we could have done without her. Prying old maid—that’s what she is.”
    Detective Abbott wrote that down. It occurred to him that a prying old maid might very well be the answer to a policeman’s prayer.
    Rush was giving particulars about Mrs. Green, the charwoman. She hadn’t been with them very long, not above three months, when she took over from old Mrs. Postlethwaite who’d had the job for fifteen years. No, she didn’t sleep in. She did her work—he wasn’t going to say how she did it. Women weren’t a morsel of good at their work so far as his opinion went. She’d gone off with a bad turn last night, and he didn’t expect to see her, not before the afternoon, if then.
    â€œDrink?” enquired the Inspector.
    Rush shook a gloomy head.
    â€œA silly, peter-grievous female,” he pronounced.
    The Inspector enquired whether she would have a key to the front door, and was told certainly not.
    â€œWell, that’s Mrs. Green. Now what other service was there in the house? All these flats—who looks after them? You and Mrs. Green don’t do it all?”
    Rush scowled.
    â€œInside the flats is none of my job, except for Mr. Pyne that I made an arrangement with and many’s a time I’ve wished I hadn’t. One of the sort you can’t please, he is.”
    â€œWell, what do the other people do?”
    â€œSome of them does for themselves, like Miss Craddock, and Mrs. Connell, and the Miss Holdsworths, and Miss Bingham. And some of them has daily help, like Lady Trent and the Potters, but they’re away, and when they’re away the helps don’t come—and I see to it that they hands in their keys, for I won’t be responsible without.”
    â€œVery sound,” said the Inspector.
    Rush was dismissed.

CHAPTER XIII
    In Lucy Craddock’s sitting-room Peter Renshaw stood on the black woolly rug before the empty fireplace and mapped out a plan of campaign. Lee, sitting on the arm of the largest chair, was looking, not at him, but out of the window at a patch of hot, hazy sky. There was a very much worn Brussels carpet on the floor, its original tints of mustard and strong pink now mercifully merged in a general shabbiness. The walls, like those in No. 9, were completely