“H’m!” said Roger thoughtfully. “Well, it certainly isn’t vastly important in any case, is it? And that’s all?”
“Every bit!” Mrs. Plant replied firmly. “Now what do you advise me to do? Admit that I made a mistake when I was with the inspector and tell the truth? Or just say nothing about it? It may be very silly of me, but I really can’t see that it makes the least difference either way. The incident is of no importance at all.”
“Still, it’s best to be on the safe side, I think. If I were you I should take the inspector aside before the proceedings open tomorrow and tell him frankly that you made a mistake, and that you took your jewels in to Mr. Stanworth in the library last night before saying good night to him.”
Mrs. Plant made a wry face. “Very well,” she said reluctantly, “I will. It’s horrid to have to admit that one was wrong; but you’re probably right. Anyhow, I’ll do that.”
“I think you’re wise,” Roger replied, getting to his feet again. “Well, Alec, what about that stroll of ours? I’m afraid it will have to be a moonlit one now.” He paused in the doorway and turned back. “Good night, Mrs. Plant, if I don’t see you again; I expect you will be turning in fairly early. Sleep well, and don’t let things worry you, whatever you do.”
“I’ll try not to,” she smiled back. “Good night, Mr. Sheringham, and thank you very much indeed.” And she heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief as she watched his disappearing back.
The two made their way out on to the lawn in silence.
“Hullo,” Roger remarked, as they reached the big cedar, “they’ve left the chairs out here. Let’s take advantage of them.”
“Well?” Alec demanded gruffly when they were seated, disapproval written large in every line of him. “Well? I hope you’re satisfied now.”
Roger pulled his pipe out of his pocket and filled it methodically, gazing thoughtfully into the soft darkness as he did so.
“Satisfied?” he repeated at last. “Well, hardly. What do you think?”
“I think you scared that wretched woman out of her wits for absolutely nothing at all. I told you ages ago you were making a mistake about her.”
“You’re a very simple-minded young man I’m afraid, Alec,” Roger said, quite regretfully.
“Why, you surely don’t mean to say you disbelieve her?” Alec asked in astonishment.
“H’m! I wouldn’t necessarily say that. She may have been speaking the truth.”
“That’s awfully good of you,” Alec commented sarcastically.
“But the trouble is that she certainly wasn’t speaking the whole of it. She’s got something up her sleeve, has that lady, whatever you choose to think, Alec. Didn’t you notice how she tried to pump me? How did I know what time she’d been in there? Had she left anything else there? When did I find the handkerchief? No, her explanation sounds perfectly reasonable, I admit, as far as it goes. But it doesn’t go nearly far enough. It doesn’t explain the powder on the arm of the couch, for instance; and I noticed at dinner that she doesn’t powder her arms. But there’s one thing above all that it leaves entirely out of the reckoning.”
“Oh?” Alec asked ironically. “And what may that be?”
“The fact that she was crying when she was in the library,” Roger replied simply.
“How on earth do you know that?” said the dumbfounded Alec.
“Because the handkerchief was just slightly damp when I found it. Also it was rolled up in a tight little ball, as women do when they cry.”
“Oh!” said Alec blankly.
“So you see there is still a lot for which Mrs. Plant did most certainly not account, isn’t there? As to what she did say, it may be true or it may be not. In gist I should say that it was. There’s only one thing that I’m really doubtful about, and that’s the time when she said she was in the library.”
“What makes you doubt that?”
“Well, in the first place I didn’t hear her come upstairs immediately to fetch her jewels, as I almost certainly should have done. And, secondly, didn’t you notice that she carefully asked me if I knew what time she was there, before she gave a time at all? In other words, after I had let out like an idiot that I didn’t know what time she was there, she realised that she could say what time she liked, and as long as it didn’t clash with any of the known facts (such as Stanworth being out in the garden with me) it would be all right.”
“Splitting hairs?” Alec murmured laconically.
“Possibly; but nice, thick, easily splittable ones.”
For a time they smoked in silence, each engaged with his own thoughts. Then:
“Who would you say was the older, Alec,” Roger asked suddenly, “Lady Stanworth or Mrs. Shannon?”
“Mrs. Shannon,” Alec replied without hesitation. “Why?”
“I was just wondering. But Lady Stanworth looks older; her hair is getting quite gray. Mrs. Shannon’s is still brown.”
“Yes, I know Mrs. Shannon looks the younger of the two; but I’m sure she’s not, for all that.”
“Well, what age would you put Jefferson at?”
“Lord, I don’t know. He might be any age. About the same as Lady Stanworth, I should imagine. What on earth are you asking all this for?”
“Oh, just something that was passing through my mind. Nothing very important.”
They relapsed into silence once more.
Suddenly Roger slapped his knee. “By Jove!” he ejaculated. “I wonder if we dare!”
“What’s up now?”
“I’ve just had a brain wave. Look here, Alexander Watson, it seems to me that we’ve been tackling this little affair from the wrong end.”
“How’s that?”
“Why, we’ve been concentrating all our energies on working backwards from
