Hanaud smiled at her good-humouredly. He had offended her again. She was showing him once more the petulant, mutinous child in her which he had seen the morning before. But the smile did remain upon his face. In the doorway of the library Ann Upcott was standing, her face still very pale, and fires smouldering in her eyes.
"You searched my rooms, I hope, Monsieur," she said in a challenging voice.
"Thoroughly, Mademoiselle."
"And you did not find the necklace?"
"No!" and he walked straight across the hall to her with a look suddenly grown stern.
"Mademoiselle, I should like you to answer me a question. But you need not. I wish you to understand that. You have a right to reserve your answers for the Office of the Examining Magistrate and then give them only in the presence of and with the consent of your legal adviser. Monsieur Bex will assure you that is so."
The girl's defiance weakened.
"What do you wish to ask me?" she asked.
"Exactly how you came to the Maison Crenelle."
The fire died out of her eyes; Ann's eyelids fluttered down. She stretched out a hand against the jamb of the door to steady herself. Jim wondered whether she guessed that the head of Simon Harlowe's arrow was now hidden in Hanaud's pocket.