“Perfectly. Sorry I had to ask you, but you see how it is. Well, I’m dashed if I can blame you. I’d have done the same thing myself. But I’d like to have the story of it from your own lips.”
“Just told you the story.”
“No, the other one, I mean.”
“What other one?”
“Oh, don’t beat about the bush like this. You know perfectly well what I’m driving at. I’ll put it in the original form, if you like. Where were you during the night that Stanworth died?”
Jefferson’s angry flush returned.
“Now look here, Sheringham, that’s too much. I’ve told you things I never dreamed I’d have to tell anyone, and I’m not going to have you probing any farther into my business. That’s final.”
Roger rose to his feet. “I’m sorry you take it like that, Jefferson,” he said quietly. “You leave me no alternative.”
“What are you going to do then?”
“Tell the police the whole story.”
“Are you mad, Sheringham?” Jefferson burst out angrily.
“No, but I think you are, not to trust me,” Roger retorted, hardly less so. “You don’t think I want to tell them, do you? It’s you who are forcing me to do so.”
“What, through not telling you what—what I was doing that night?”
“Of course.”
There was a short pause, while the two glared at each other.
“Come back in a quarter of an hour,” Jefferson said abruptly. “I’ll think it over. Have to consult her, of course, first.”
Roger nodded acquiescence to this proposal and hurried out of the room. Exultantly he sought Alec.
“I told you so, Alexander,” he cried triumphantly, as soon as he was fairly inside the room. “Jefferson’s on the point of confession!”
“He’s not!” Alec exclaimed incredulously.
“He is indeed. And there’s a lot more to it than that. I’ve bluffed him into believing that I know a lot more than I do really, and he’s going to tell me all sorts of other things as well. He’s let one cat out of the bag already. I can tell you. Mrs. Plant is in it, after all!”
“Oh, rot!” Alec replied with decision. “That’s out of the question. I know she isn’t.”
“Don’t be so absurd, Alexander,” Roger retorted somewhat nettled. “How can you possibly know?”
“Well, anyhow, I’m sure she isn’t,” Alec replied obstinately.
“But my dear chap, friend Jefferson has just gone off to consult her as to whether he shall tell me the whole story or not. I threatened him with the police, you see, if he didn’t.”
“I suppose you taxed him outright with the murder, did you?”
“No, Alexander, I didn’t,” Roger answered wearily. “The word murder was never so much as mentioned. I simply put it that I wanted to know what he was doing on the night of Stanworth’s death.”
“And he wouldn’t tell you?” Alec asked, somewhat surprisedly.
“He certainly would not. But he told me a lot of other things. He was in Stanworth’s power all right. I haven’t got time to tell you the whole story, but there’s motive enough for him to kill Stanworth himself, even without the introduction of Mrs. Plant’s side of it. Oh, the whole thing’s as plain as a pikestaff. I can’t understand why you’re so sceptical about it all.”
“Perhaps I make a better detective than you do, Roger,” Alec laughed, a trifle constrainedly.
“Perhaps,” Roger said without very much conviction. He glanced at his watch. “Well, I’d better be getting back. I wonder if you’d believe it if I showed you Jefferson’s confession in writing! Would you?”
“I very much doubt it,” Alec smiled.
Jefferson was no longer alone in the morning room when Roger returned to it. To the latter’s surprise Lady Stanworth was also there. She was standing with her back to the window and did not look round at his entrance. Roger shut the door carefully behind him and looked inquiringly at Jefferson.
That gentleman did not waste time.
“We’ve talked the matter over,” he said curtly, “and decided to tell you what you want to know.”
Roger could hardly repress an exclamation of surprise. Why should Jefferson have imported Lady Stanworth into the matter? Obviously she must be involved, and deeply, too. Could it be that Jefferson had taken her into his confidence with regard to Mrs. Plant? How much did she know, if that were the case? Presumably everything. Roger felt that the situation was about to prove not a little awkward.
“I’m glad,” he murmured, half apologetically.
Jefferson was carrying the thing off well. Not only did he appear to be feeling no fear at all, but his manner was not even that of defiance. The attitude he had adopted and which sat perfectly naturally upon him was rather one of dignified condescension.
“But before I answer you, Sheringham,” he said stiffly, “I should like to say, both on behalf of this lady and myself, that we consider—”
Lady Stanworth turned to him. “Please!” she said quietly. “I don’t think we need go into that. If Mr. Sheringham is incapable of understanding the position into which he has forced us, there can hardly be any need to labour the point.”
“Quite, quite,” Roger murmured still more apologetically, and feeling unaccountably small. Lady Stanworth was perhaps the only person in the world who consistently had that effect upon him.
“Very well,” Jefferson bowed. He turned to Roger. “You wanted to know where I was on the night that Stanworth shot himself?”
“On the night of Stanworth’s death,” Roger corrected, with a slight smile.
“On the night of Stanworth’s death then,” Jefferson said impatiently. “Same thing. As I said before, I fail entirely to see how it can concern you, but we have decided under the circumstances to tell you. After all, the fact will be common knowledge soon enough now. I was with my wife.”
“Your wife?” Roger echoed, scarcely able to believe his ears.
“That is
