Martin Hillyard turned to Sir Chichester.
"And now, if you will allow me, I will open my box of cigarettes."
Harry Luttrell went back to his depot the next morning, without seeing Joan again. Millicent Splay wrote to him during the next week. The inquest had been confined within its proper limits. Jenny Prask had spoken the truth in the witness box, and from beginning to end there had been no mention of Joan or Mario Escobar. A verdict of temporary insanity had been returned, and Stella now lay in the village churchyard. Harry Luttrell drew a breath of relief and turned to his work. For six weeks his days and nights were full; and then came twenty-four hours' leave and a swift journey into Sussex. He arrived at Rackham Park in the dusk of the evening. By a good chance he found Joan with Millie Splay and Sir Chichester alone.
Sir Chichester welcomed him with cordiality.
"My dear fellow, I am delighted to see you. You will stay the night, of course."
"No," Harry answered. "I must get back to London this evening."
He took a cup of tea, and Sir Chichester, obtuse to the warning glances of his wife, plunged into an account of the events which had followed his departure.
"I drew out a statement. Nothing could have been more concise, the coroner said. What's the matter, Millie? Why don't you leave me alone? Oh—ah—yes," and he hummed a little and spluttered a little, and then with an air of the subtlest craft he remarked, "There are those plans for the new pig-sties, Millie, which I am anxious to show you."
He was manœuvred at last from the room. Harry Luttrell and Joan Whitworth were left standing opposite to one another in the room.
"Joan," Harry Luttrell said, "in ten days I go back to France."