don't get flurried. Think carefully, for your answer
may have illimitable consequences! After your arrival at Harrel last
night, did Joan return here immediately in your car?"

Sir Chichester had never been so impressive. Miranda was frightened and
changed colour. But she had given her promise and she kept it pluckily.

"No," she answered.

Jenny Prask permitted herself to smile her disbelief. Sir Chichester was
triumphant.

"Well, there's an end of your pretty story, my girl," he said. "You
wanted to do a little mischief, did you? Well, you haven't! And here, by
a stroke of luck, is Joan herself to settle the matter."

He sat down and once more he drew his sheet of foolscap in front of him.
He could write his clear succinct statement now, write it in "nervous
prose." He was not quite sure what nervous prose actually was, but he
knew it to be the correct medium to use on these occasions.

Meanwhile Joan ran down the stairs.

"I am afraid I have been very lazy this morning," she cried. She saw
Harry Luttrell, she coloured to the eyes, she smiled doubtfully and said
in a little whimsical voice, "We didn't after all, practise in the
passage."

Then, and only then, did she realise that something was amiss. Millie
Splay in her desire to spare her darling the sudden shock of learning
what calamity had befallen the house that night had bidden Joan's maid
keep silence. She herself would break the news. But Millie Splay was
busy with telegrams to Robert Croyle and Stella's own friends, and all
the sad little duties which wait on death; and Joan ran down into the
midst of the debate without a warning.

Martin Hillyard would have given it to her, but Sir Chichester was hot
upon his report.

"Joan, my dear," he said confidently. "There's a little point--not in
dispute really--but--well there's a little point. It has been said that
you came straight back here last night from Harrel?"

Joan's face turned slowly white. She stood with her great eyes fixed
upon Sir Chichester, still as an image, and she did not answer a word.
Harry Luttrell drew in a quick breath like a man in pain. Sir Chichester
was selecting a new pen and noticed nothing.

"It's ridiculous, of course, my dear, but I must put to you the formal
question. Did you?"

"Yes," answered Joan, and the pen fell from Sir Chichester's hand.

"But--but--how did you come back?"

"I borrowed Miranda's car."

Miranda's legs gave under her and she sank down with