Elm Cottage was a small detached villa, set some twenty yards back from the road, and surrounded by a tiny, but well-kept garden. Tanner sent in his card, and was taken to a low and rather dark drawing-room at the back of the house, from which however there was a fine view of the river. Everything bore traces of culture and taste, but of rather straitened means. The room wanted papering, the carpet was worn, the furniture shabby. But what there was of it was good, there was everywhere neatness and spotless cleanliness, and the otherwise somewhat drab effect was met by means of flowers in bowls and vases. If the room bore the impress of Miss Drew’s character, as Tanner suspected, it showed her a fine girl, bravely determined to make the best of things which she could not remedy.
In a few moments she joined him, and as the Inspector looked at her face, he felt the character he had imagined of her was there. A low, broad forehead crowned by masses of dark hair surmounted two dark, intelligent eyes, which met his own with steady directness. Her nose was small, her lips rather full but delicately modelled, and her chin firm and well-rounded. Indeed, if anything, the lower part of her face might be considered a trifle too much developed for perfect symmetry. It gave her almost too pronounced an appearance of strength and determination, and Tanner felt she would be a person to be reckoned with. But as they talked he became convinced her power would never be used except to further what she believed to be just and right.
“I have to apologise, madame, for this intrusion,” he said courteously, “but I have been sent down by Scotland Yard to inquire into the circumstances attending the death of Sir William Ponson. Mr. Austin Ponson has told me of the hoax which was played on him on the same evening, and we discussed whether there might not possibly be some connection. He mentioned your name, and I ventured to call to ask you if you would please tell me what you know about it.”
“Did Mr. Ponson tell you we are engaged?”
“He did, Miss Drew, under promise of secrecy. He gave that as his excuse for mentioning your name, also saying he had your authority to do so.”
“And what precisely do you want me to tell you?”
“Anything you can about it, please. What, for example, was the first you heard of it?”
The girl did not reply for a moment. Then she answered with another question.
“Just let me understand you, if you please, Mr. Inspector. Do you doubt Mr. Ponson’s story, and are you looking for confirmation?”
Inspector Tanner hesitated in his turn.
“I think, Miss Drew,” he said quietly, “that you would probably prefer me to tell you the exact truth.”
She nodded and he went on.
“The answer to your question is Yes and No. In the ordinary routine way I asked Mr. Ponson where he himself was on night. Such a question is always asked under such circumstances, and it has no unpleasant significance. In answer to it he told me about the hoax. The story seemed to me probable, and I saw no reason for doubting it. But that did not absolve me from trying in every way I could to test its truth. You must see that I was bound to do so. And I may be allowed to say that all the inquiries I have made up to the present confirm what Mr. Ponson told me.”
“But why does it matter whether or not his story is true?”
Tanner felt very uncomfortable. Though hardened by a life of contact with crime, he was a good fellow at heart, and he disliked intensely giving pain, especially to women. But as he looked into the steady, truthful eyes of the girl before him, he felt he could not prevaricate.
“I would rather not tell you,” he answered, “but if you insist, I will.”
“I insist.”
“Well, I am sorry to say we don’t exactly understand how Sir William died. There is a doubt that it may have been suicide or even murder. Let me make it clear that this is by no means certain, but I am bound to say that the idea has occurred to us that the murderer, if there was one, hoaxed Mr. Ponson to try to throw suspicion on him.”
The girl’s face paled, but she gave no other sign of emotion.
“I dreaded it,” she replied in a low tone, “and he dreaded it too. We talked the whole thing over on the afternoon of , and we couldn’t see any reason why Sir William should have gone down to the boat of his own accord. And then this hoax looked as if it had been made for just what you say. But I am at least thankful you take that view and don’t suspect Mr. Ponson of inventing the whole thing. That, I may say now, was what I really feared.”
“I can only repeat that all the inquiries I have made up to the present have confirmed Mr. Ponson’s story, and I have no reason whatever to think he invented it.”
“Thank you for that at all events. Now what do you want me to do?”
“To tell me at what hours Mr. Ponson came and left here on the night, and what took place while he was here.”
“He came at —almost exactly. I looked at the clock when the ring came, for we seldom had so late a call. He showed me the two notes he had received, and asked me about them. When I explained I had not written them he told us—my father was present—the whole story of the hoax. As I have said, he did
