Cyril felt the muscles of his face stiffen. He had for days been dreading some such question, yet now that it had finally come, it had found him completely unprepared. He must parry it if he could. He must fight for her till the last ditch.

But how devilishly clever of Griggs to have deferred his attack until he was able to catch his adversary off his guard! Cyril looked keenly but, he hoped, calmly at the Inspector. Their eyes met, but without the clash which Cyril had expected. The man's expression, although searching, was not hostile; in fact, there was something almost apologetic about his whole attitude. Griggs was not sure of his ground, that much was obvious. He knew something, he probably suspected more, but there was still a chance that he might be led away from the trail.

Cyril's mind worked with feverish rapidity. He realised that it was imperative that his manner should appear perfectly natural. But how would an innocent man behave? He must first decide what his position, viewed from Griggs's standpoint, really was. He must have a definite conception of his part before he attempted to act it.

The Inspector evidently knew that a young woman, who bore Cyril's name, had been taken ill on the Newhaven train. He was no doubt also aware that she was now under the care of Dr. Stuart-Smith. But if the Inspector really believed the girl to be his wife, these facts were in no way incriminating. Yet the man smelt a rat! He must, therefore, know more of the truth. No, for if he had discovered that the girl was not Lady Wilmersley, Cyril was sure that Griggs would not have broached the subject so tentatively. What then had aroused the man's suspicions? Ah, he had it! He had told every one who inquired about his wife that she was still on the continent. Peter, also, obeying his orders, had repeated the same story in the servants' hall. And, of course, Griggs knew that they were both lying. No wonder he was suspicious!

"She is much better, thank you. But how did you hear of her illness? I have not mentioned it to any one." Cyril flattered himself that his voice had exactly the right note of slightly displeased surprise. He watched the Inspector breathlessly. Had he said the right thing? Yes, for Griggs's expression relaxed and he answered with a smile that was almost deprecating:

"I, of course, saw the report of the man who searched the train, and I was naturally surprised to find that the only lady who had taken her ticket in Newhaven was Mrs. Cyril Crichton. In a case like this we have to verify everything, so when I discovered that the gentleman who was with her, was undoubtedly your Lordship, it puzzled me a good deal why both you and your valet should be so anxious to keep her Ladyship's presence in England a secret."

"Yes, yes, it must have astonished you, and I confess I am very sorry you found me out," said Cyril. He had his cue now. The old lie must be told once more. "Her Ladyship is suffering from a—a nervous affection." He hesitated purposely. "In fact—she has just left an insane asylum," he finally blurted out.

"You mean that the present Lady Wilmersley—not the Dowager—?" The Inspector was too surprised to finish his sentence.

"Yes, it's queer, isn't it, that both should be afflicted in the same way," agreed Cyril, calmly lighting a cigarette.

"Most remarkable," ejaculated Griggs, staring fixedly at Cyril.

"As the doctors believe that her Ladyship will completely recover, I didn't want any one to know that she had ever been unbalanced. But I might have known that it was bound to leak out."

"We are no gossips, my lord; I shall not mention what you have told me to any one."

"Thanks. But if the whole police department——?"

"They have got too much to do, to bother about what doesn't concern them. I don't believe a dozen of them noticed that in searching the train for one Lady Wilmersley, they had inadvertently stumbled on another, and as the latter had nothing to do with their case, they probably dismissed the whole thing from their minds. I know them!"

"But you—" suggested Cyril.

"Well, you see, it's different with me. It's the business of my men to bring me isolated facts, but I have to take a larger view of the—the—the—ah—possibilities. I have got to think of everything—suspect every one."

"Even me?" asked Cyril quickly.

"Your Lordship would have no difficulty in proving an alibi."

"So you took the trouble to find that out?"

"Of course, my lord."

"But why? I should really like to know what could have led you to suspect me?"

"I didn't suspect you, my lord. I only thought of you. You see, Lady Wilmersley must have had an accomplice and you must acknowledge that it was a strange coincidence that your Lordship should have happened to pass through Newhaven at that particular moment, especially as the Newhaven route is not very popular with people of your means."

"Quite so. As a matter of fact, I had no intention of taking it, but I missed the Calais train."

"I see," Griggs nodded his head as if the explanation fully satisfied him. "Would you mind, my lord," he continued after a brief pause, "if, now that we are on the subject, I asked you a few questions? There are several points which are bothering me. Of course, don't answer, if you had rather not."

"You mean if my answers are likely to incriminate me. Well, I don't think they will, so fire ahead," drawled Cyril, trying to express by his manner a slight weariness of the topic.

"Thank you, my lord." Griggs looked a trifle abashed, but he persisted. "I have been wondering how it was that you met her Ladyship in Newhaven, if you had no previous intention of taking that route?"

Cyril was ready with his answer.

"It was quite accidental. The fact is, her Ladyship escaped from an asylum near Fontainebleau over a fortnight ago. I scoured France for her but finally gave up the search, and leaving the French detectives to follow up any clue that might turn up, I decided almost on the spur of the moment to run over to England. I was never more astonished than when I found her on the train."

"Why had she gone to Newhaven?" asked Griggs.

"I have no idea."

"Nor how long she stayed there?"

"No. She was rather excited and I asked no questions."

"Had she ever before visited Newhaven to your knowledge?"

"Never."

"Then she did not know the late Lord Wilmersley?"

"No."

"Was there any reason for this?" inquired the detective, looking keenly at Cyril.

"I was never very friendly with my cousin, and we sailed for South Africa immediately after our marriage. Neither of us has been home since then."

"I must find out where she spent the night of the murder," murmured the Inspector. He seemed to have forgotten Cyril's presence.

"If you think her Ladyship had anything to do with the tragedy, I assure you, you are on the wrong track," cried Cyril, forgetting for a moment his pose of polite aloofness. "She has never been at all violent. It is chiefly her memory that is affected. Until the last few days what she did one minute, she forgot the next."

"You think, therefore, that she would not be able to tell me how she spent her time in Newhaven?"

"I am sure of it."

"That is most unfortunate! By the way, how has she taken the news of Lord Wilmersley's murder?"

"She has not been told of it. She does not even know that he is dead."

"Ah!"

"I see I must explain her case more fully, so that you may be able to understand my position. Her Ladyship's mind became affected about six months ago, owing to causes into which I need not enter now. Since her arrival in England her improvement has been very rapid. Her memory is growing stronger, but it is essential that it should not be taxed for the present. The doctor assures me that if she is kept perfectly quiet for a month or so, she will recover completely. That is why I want her to remain in absolute seclusion. An incautious word might send her off her balance. She must be protected from people, and I will protect her, I warn you of that. Six weeks from now, if all goes well, you can cross-question her, if you still think it necessary, but at present I not only forbid it, but I will do all in my power to prevent it. Of course," continued Cyril more calmly, "I have neither the power nor the desire to hamper you in the exercise of your profession; so if you doubt my statements just ask Dr. Stuart-Smith whether he thinks her Ladyship has ever been in a condition when she might have committed murder. He will laugh at you, I am sure."

"I don't doubt it, my lord; all the same—" Griggs hesitated.

"All the same you would like to know what her Ladyship did on the night of the murder. Well, find out, if you can. I assure you that although our motives differ, my curiosity equals yours."

"Thank you, my lord. I shall certainly do my best to solve the riddle," said the Inspector as he bowed himself out.

Cyril sank wearily into a chair. The interview had been a great strain, and yet he felt that in a way it had been a relief also. He flattered himself that he had played his cards rather adroitly. For now that he had found out exactly how much the police knew, he might possibly circumvent them. Of course, it was merely a question of days, perhaps even of hours, before Griggs would discover that the girl was not his wife; for the Inspector was nothing if not thorough and if he once began searching Newhaven for evidence of her stay there, Cyril was sure that it would not take him long to establish her identity. Oh! If he only had Griggs fighting on his side, instead of the little pompous fool of a Judson! By the way, what could have become of Judson? It was now two full days since he had left Geralton. He certainly ought to have reported himself long before this. Well, it made no difference one way or the other. He was a negligible quantity. Cyril had no time to think of him now. His immediate concern was to find a way by which Priscilla could be surreptitiously removed from the nursing home, before the police had time to collect sufficient evidence to warrant her arrest. But how was it to be done? Cyril sat for half an hour staring at the smouldering fire before he was able to hit on a plan that seemed to him at all feasible.

Going to the writing-table, he rapidly covered three sheets and thrust them into an envelope.

"Peter," he called.

"Yes, sir," answered a sleepy voice.

"You are to take this letter at half-past seven o'clock to-morrow morning to Mr. Campbell's rooms and give it into his own hands. If he is still asleep, wake him up. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Very well. You can go to bed now——"

It was lucky, thought Cyril, that he had taken Guy into his confidence. He was a good chap, Guy was! How he must hate the whole business! For, notwithstanding his careless manner, he was au fond a conventional soul. It was really comical to think of that impeccable person as a receiver of stolen property. What would he do with the jewels, Cyril wondered. Ah, that reminded him of the bag. He must get rid of it at once. Poking the fire into a blaze, he cautiously locked the two doors which connected his rooms with the rest of the house. Then, having assured himself that the blinds were carefully drawn and that no one was secreted about the premises, he knelt down before the empty fireplace in his bedroom and felt up the chimney.

The bag was no longer there!