“Do you really think so?” she asked, in a voice that she strove desperately to render unconcerned. “But I haven’t got anything of—of any importance to tell, you know.”
“Oh, no, of course not,” Roger said reassuringly. “It’s only a matter of form, you know. You’ll just have to repeat what you told the inspector this morning.”
“Will they—— Are they likely to ask me any questions, Mr. Sheringham?” Mrs. Plant asked, with a little laugh.
“Oh, they may ask you one or two, perhaps. Nothing very dreadful.”
“I see. What sort of questions, would you imagine?”
“About Mr. Stanworth’s manner, probably. Whether he was cheerful, and all that. And of course they’ll want to know what he spoke to you about.”
“Oh, that was nothing,” Mrs. Plant replied quickly. “Just about—— Oh, nothing of any importance whatever. Er—you will be giving evidence, too, won’t you, Mr. Sheringham?”
“Yes, unfortunately.”
Only the white knuckles of her clenched hand gave any hint of Mrs. Plant’s feelings as she asked lightly enough, “And you’re not going to give me away over that absurd panic of mine about my jewels this morning, are you? You promised, didn’t you?”
“Of course not!” said Roger easily. “Wouldn’t dream of it!”