“No, Alexander, I didn’t,” Roger answered wearily. “The word murder was never so much as mentioned. I simply put it that I wanted to know what he was doing on the night of Stanworth’s death.”
“And he wouldn’t tell you?” Alec asked, somewhat surprisedly.
“He certainly would not. But he told me a lot of other things. He was in Stanworth’s power all right. I haven’t got time to tell you the whole story, but there’s motive enough for him to kill Stanworth himself, even without the introduction of Mrs. Plant’s side of it. Oh, the whole thing’s as plain as a pikestaff. I can’t understand why you’re so sceptical about it all.”
“Perhaps I make a better detective than you do, Roger,” Alec laughed, a trifle constrainedly.
“Perhaps,” Roger said without very much conviction. He glanced at his watch. “Well, I’d better be getting back. I wonder if you’d believe it if I showed you Jefferson’s confession in writing! Would you?”
“I very much doubt it,” Alec smiled.
Jefferson was no longer alone in the morning room when Roger returned to it. To the latter’s surprise Lady Stanworth was also there. She was standing with her back to the window and did not look round at his entrance. Roger shut the door carefully behind him and looked inquiringly at Jefferson.
That gentleman did not waste time.
“We’ve talked the matter over,” he said curtly, “and decided to tell you what you want to know.”
Roger could hardly repress an exclamation of surprise. Why should Jefferson have imported Lady Stanworth into the matter? Obviously she must be involved, and deeply, too. Could it be that Jefferson had taken her into his confidence with regard to Mrs. Plant? How much did she know, if that were the case? Presumably everything. Roger felt that the situation was about to prove not a little awkward.