e
alive. Ask her!' It is Jenny Prask or Miss Whitworth. We are up against
that alternative all the time. And Jenny holds all the cards. For she
knows, damn her, what happened here last night."

"She did hold all the cards this morning," Hillyard corrected. "She
doesn't now. Look at this key! There was a heavy dew last night. It was
wet underfoot in the garden at Harrel."

"Yes," said Millie.

"How is it then that there's no rust upon the key?" and as he asked the
question he twirled the key so that the light flashed upon stem and
wards until they shone like silver. "No, this key was placed where you
found it, Luttrell, not last night, but this morning after the sun had
dried the grass."

"But we came home by daylight," Sir Chichester interposed. "They might
argue that Joan might have slipped downstairs before she went to bed,
with the key in her hand."

"But she wouldn't have chosen that spot in front of the library window.
She might have flung it from her window, she might conceivably have
slipped round the house and laid it under Mrs. Croyle's window. But to
place it in front of the library to which room she returned from
Harrel--no."

"Yes," said Sir Chichester doubtfully. "I see. Joan can make good that
point. Yes, she can explain that." And Millie Splay broke in with
impatience:

"Explain it! Of course. But what we want is to avoid that she should
have to explain anything, that she should be called as a witness at
all!"

There lay the point of trouble. To it, they came ceaselessly back,
revolving in the circle of their vain argument. Joan had something to
conceal, and Jenny Prask was determined that she should disclose it, and
Jenny Prask held the means by which to force her.

"But that's just what I am driving at," continued Martin. "We can't
afford to be gentle here. There's no lie Jenny Prask wouldn't tell to
force Joan into the witness box. We have got to deal relentlessly with
Jenny Prask. A woman's voice spoke from this house over the telephone to
London at a quarter-past twelve last night, and said that Stella was
dead. Whose voice? Not Joan's. Joan was having supper with Luttrell at
twelve o'clock. I saw her, others, too, saw her of course. Whose voice
then? Stella's, as we say--as we know. But if not Stella's, as Jenny
Prask says--why then there is only one other woman's voice which could
have given the news."

"Jenny's," cried Millie with a sudden upspring of hope.

"Yes, Jenny Prask's."