Carnthwacke placed himself very deliberately between her and the rest of the room. His clasp of her cold hands tightened.
“Now, now, be a sensible girl!” he admonished, giving her a little shake as he spoke, yet with a very real tenderness in his gruff tones. “Quit crying and shaking and just say what you have to say as quietly as possible. Nobody can hurt you for that. And if they do try to, they will have to reckon with Cyril B. Carnthwacke. Now, sir.” He looked at John Steadman. “I guess there will be other questions you will have to ask, and it may be as well to get as much as we can over at once.”
The barrister cleared his throat.
“I am afraid it will be impossible to do that here. The very first thing to be done is to inform Scotland Yard of Mrs. Carnthwacke's tragic discovery.”
The American bent over his wife for a minute then drew aside.
“I guess it will have to be as the gentleman says, Mrs. Carnthwacke. Now just as plain as you can put it, and remember that I am standing beside you.”
Mrs. Carnthwacke drew one of her hands from his and passed her handkerchief over her parched lips. Then she looked at Steadman.
It seemed to him that it was only by a supreme effort that she became articulate at all.
“I knocked at the door—I knew how to find it, Mr. Bechcombe had told me how on the phone. Down the passage to the right, past the clerks' office. It—it wasn't opened at once—I heard some one moving about rather stumblingly, and I was just going to knock again when the door was opened and——” She stopped, shivering violently.
“Now then, now then!” admonished her husband. “You just quit thinking of what you are wise about now, and tell us just what took place as quickly as you can.”