The flattery did its work. Mrs. Baker lifted her head again and repaid it with a gracious smile.
“I am interested in science,” she admitted. “When my poor brother was alive I used to give At Homes for him to show his curiosities to people. I have had as many as six Fellows of the Royal Geographical Society at one time before now.”
“I felt sure of it. And you see your brother may easily have mentioned this bottle, or shown it, to someone without your knowledge.”
The birdlike head wavered. “But I am certain that it hadn’t been taken when he died. I had to make a list of everything he left for probate, and I should have missed it if it hadn’t been there. And I have had no At Homes since.”
It struck me that this was said rather unwillingly, under the stress of conscience. Tarleton seemed to think the same. The look he gave to the little woman showed me that he believed she was keeping something back.
His next question was a bombshell.
“May I ask if you have taken any interest in the science of psycho-analysis?”
Mrs. Baker’s collapse was pitiful. If the specialist had suddenly changed into a cobra before her eyes she could not have looked at him with greater terror.
“What do you mean, Sir Roderick?” she faltered.
Tarleton slowly shook his head.