rrible experience I have ever had. To think of seeing that poor girl
alive and well one minute, and the next--like that. It's too dreadful to
think of."

"It was certainly a most disgusting crime," the inspector agreed.

"I suppose it was James Layton?"

"I am afraid I cannot make any statement at present," he replied. "Our
investigations are proceeding as quickly as possible. I hope we shall
clear it up in a few days."

"I hope you will," she declared fervently. "Such a brutal criminal can
expect no mercy."

"In the meantime," continued the inspector, "I should be much obliged if
you would kindly give me a little information."

"Certainly," she said readily. "Sit down."

He sat down, facing her. She made a charming picture. But Inspector Fay
had been taken in by charming women several times during the early part
of his career, and at this stage of it was as impervious as an oyster.

"Please understand," he began, "that in asking these questions I am
making no insinuations or suggestions of any kind. It is necessary to
establish certain facts."

"I quite understand," she assured him. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know what you were saying to Mr. Copplestone in the garden,
before Mr. Tranter came to tell him that Miss Manderson had gone into
the house."

She started.

"I?" she exclaimed. "I was not with Mr. Copplestone."

He remained silent.

"I told you, I was not with any one. I did not feel quite myself, and
strolled about alone."

The inspector's face was quite impassive.

"You wish me to accept that answer?" he asked quietly.

She stiffened haughtily.

"What do you mean?" she said sharply.

"I mean that you wish that answer to be accepted as the truth?"

"Of course. Are you suggesting that it is not?"

"I am suggesting nothing," he returned, with unruffled composure. "But I
must tell you that if I am to accept that answer, it may have serious
consequences."

"Serious consequences?" she echoed, startled.

"Yes."

"For whom?"

"Possibly for Mr. Copplestone himself."

Signs of uneasiness began to appear, in spite of her wonderful
self-control.

"For Mr. Copplestone...?"

"For Mr. Copplestone," the inspector affirmed steadily.

"I don't understand," she said. "Will you kindly explain?"

"Certainly." His voice dropped slightly. "Mr. Copplestone lied to me."

"Lied to you?"

"Lied to me," he repeated. "In accounting for himself, from the time he
came out into the garde