Sam gaped at Jenny. "A gun? No! Why?"
"In case," Jenny said calmly.
"I'm a driver, Mrs Pawley. I drive a policeman, they don't give me a gun." She paused. "Do you have a gun?"
"Alas," Jenny said. "I have one but I was careless. I didn't check it before I left to come here and there is a fault in the mechanism." She paused. "Do you have a rifle? Shotgun?"
"No!" Sam said. "My father is a vicar." She collected herself. "Mrs Pawley, if guns are involved, I really think we ought to tell Mr Foyle."
"No," Jenny said. "He already knows more than he should. As do you."
"I see," Sam said. She fidgeted in silence for a moment and then decided to take the bull by the horns. "I say, Mrs Pawley," she said as casually as she could. "In the pictures when someone's alone in a house with someone and the person with them says 'You know more than you should' it generally turns out not very well for the, um. Party of the first part as it were."
Jenny let out a little gust of a laugh. "Don't worry, Miss Stewart," she said. "I'm not minded to kill you to guarantee your silence."
"Oh, good," Sam said, much relieved.
"Apart from the fact that you've done me several quite substantial favors," Jenny said, "it does occur to me that if I harmed a hair of your head, I would have to move to darkest Africa and change my name and spend my life looking over my shoulder, and likely even then your Mr Foyle would make sure I ended my days dancing at the end of a rope."
"Well, yes," Sam said matter-of-factly. "But that wouldn't do me much good, would it?"
She felt rather than saw Jenny turn to face her in the shadows. "You have my word, Miss Stewart, I won't hurt you."
"Well, then," Sam said. "You may as well call me Sam. Everyone does."
"Sam," Jenny said. "Jen."
"Jen," Sam said. "I think if you knew Mr Foyle as well as I know Mr Foyle you'd realize that even if he knows more than he should he's not likely to stop finding things out until he knows all of them. And neither of us has a gun. I really think we ought to tell him. It will save so much trouble in the long run." Honesty forced her to admit. "Mostly for me."
Jenny considered that, and then shrugged, the barest motion of her thin shoulders. "Try the telephone," she suggested.
Lifting the receiver, Sam listened for a tone, and jiggled the cradle a few times when there was none. With a sigh, she replaced it, calling out "No good, I'm afraid. We'll have to go to the station."
Silence.
"Jenny?" Sam went into the hall.
The front door was open. Jenny was gone.