Hanaud broke off his savage irony to ask,
"And whose voice did you think it was that whispered so clearly, 'That will do now?' The stranger's you spoke of in the library this morning?"
"No, Monsieur," Ann replied. "I could not tell. With a whisper one voice is like another."
"But you must have given that voice an owner. To run away and hide—no one would do that."
"I thought it was Jeanne Baudin's."
And Hanaud sat back in his chair again, gazing at the girl with a look in which there was as much horror as incredulity. Jim Frobisher stood behind him ashamed of his very race. Could there be a more transparent subterfuge? If she thought that the nurse Jeanne Baudin was in the bedroom, why did she turn and fly?
"Come, Mademoiselle," said Hanaud. His voice had suddenly become gentle, almost pleading. "You will not make me believe that."
Ann Upcott turned with a helpless gesture towards Betty.
"You see!" she said.
"Yes," Betty answered. She sat in doubt for a second or two and then sprang to her feet.