Jane hesitated.
“Is it necessary? I suppose it is,” she said. “Yes, if you would be so kind.”
For ten minutes she watched the girl as her pen flew over the paper, and took the pages from her as they were written.
“You have put my case more cleverly than I could have put it myself,” she said with a little smile. “I almost think you’re sympathetic.”
“You don’t know how sympathetic I am,” said Leslie, rising from her chair to make way for the other.
Lady Raytham sat down, read the last sheet again, and had dipped her pen in the ink, when the sound of voices came from outside the door. It was Lucretia’s raised protest, and a deeper voice, which Leslie instantly recognized, and, running to the door, threw it open. The Princess Anita Bellini stood on the landing, glaring through her monocle at the defiant Lucretia.
“You can’t come in; Miss Maughan’s engaged,” she was saying. “I don’t care if you’re a princess or if you’re the Queen of Sheba. When Miss Maughan’s engaged nobody can—”
“That will do, Lucretia. Come in, Princess.”
The big woman strode into the apartment without a word of thanks, not even deigning to look at the defiant maid.
“Where is—?” she began, and then she saw Lady Raytham at the desk. “What are you writing, Jane?” she demanded loudly. “You’re not being such a fool as to make a statement to the police, are you?”
“Lady Raytham is merely telling me as much as I already know,” said Leslie.
“Jane, you must not sign it. I forbid it!”
There was a tremor of anger in the hard voice, and, looking at the woman, Leslie saw how deeply the tragedy must have affected her. She seemed ten years older. The big slit of a mouth was downturned at the ends, the eyes red and inflamed.
Very calmly Lady Raytham affixed her signature.
“Don’t be foolish, Anita,” she said quietly. “The police are entitled to know certain things about Druze.”
“What have you told them? Can I see this precious document?”
She reached out her hand, but Leslie was before her.
“Let me read it to you, Princess,” she said, and placed the desk between herself and her furious visitor. That Princess Bellini was in a cold tremble of rage was patent.
She read without interruption to the end.
“Jane Raytham, you’re a fool to sign a thing like that!” stormed the woman. “Let them find things out without committing yourself to paper. This girl has tricked you into a confession—”
“Confession?” said Leslie, with a smile. “How absurd! Lady Raytham knew that Druze was a woman; it was impossible that she should not. And, as she says, she has only told us what we already knew. And what you already knew.”
“I knew nothing,” said Anita Bellini harshly, her baleful eyes fixed on the girl. “Except that you have tricked Lady Raytham into making a statement which will involve her in considerable trouble.”
Leslie faced her squarely, and for the first time Anita Bellini became dimly and uncomfortably conscious of the strength of this inconsiderable person. They had met before, and the honours of that meeting had not rested with the Princess. But she had thought of Leslie as a girl with a certain glibness of tongue, a gift of smart repartee, but without any of the especial qualities that she might expect in a foe worthy of her heaviest metal. But now it had dawned upon her that, whether she was “Coldwell’s pretty typist,” as she had contemptuously referred to her, or whether she was “a Scotland Yard underling,” she was certainly a factor to be considered and forestalled. And if she had any doubt on the subject, Leslie Maughan’s first words would have dispelled it.
“Lady Raytham has made a statement, and you also will make a statement, Princess,” she said, “either before or after the inquest.”
The woman surveyed her with an oddly sly look that was unnatural in her.
“I don’t know how you can bring me in,” she began, and her tone was milder than it had been.
“You employed Druze. Apparently you knew she was a woman, and are acquainted with her early history,” said Leslie quietly. “That is quite sufficient to bring you into any inquiry which the police set afoot.”
Anita Bellini took out her monocle, polished it on her handkerchief, and returned it to her eye.
“Possibly I was rather precipitate,” she said. “But I think you should make allowance for my—whatever I have said. I have been awfully upset by Druze’s death. Would you read the statement again?”
It was a very simple record of the information which Lady Raytham had given to the girl, and, when she had finished reading:
“No, there is nothing in that,” said the Princess. “I suppose this evidence has to come out. Does it mean that we shall be called at the inquest? I couldn’t stand that, I couldn’t!”
In that instant Leslie detected a tremor in the woman’s voice. Anita Bellini, the formidable, had a weak spot, after all. But she recovered herself very quickly.
“If everybody had his due, Peter Dawlish would be under arrest,” she said, and, ignoring the protests of Jane: “The man hated Druze; you know that quite well, Jane. He threatened her; I can prove it!” And then, in a conciliatory tone: “I hope we’re not going to be bad friends, Miss Maughan. If I can help you I will. Is there any more you can tell me than appears in the evening newspaper?”
“Nothing,” said Leslie shortly.
They left together soon after, but before they departed, Leslie found an opportunity of speaking a few words to Jane Raytham.
“I don’t want you to tell anybody about the necklace,” she said in a low voice, as she accompanied her down the stairs. “Especially about the emerald that was found in Druze’s hand. You promise me? Or have you already told?”
Jane Raytham shook her head.
“I wondered why you hadn’t put that
