“You say you were a prisoner?”
“Yes.”
“When did you come to the house?”
“This morning. I came here from my yacht, the Stella. She is in the river now.”
“Who made you a prisoner, and why?”
To answer that involved the telling of all I knew. And whether this was sham or reality, it meant danger to Miralda. “You may be sure I mean to find that out,” I said, fencing.
A pause followed and I heard some whispering. Then the man’s former question was repeated. “You say you were a prisoner?”
“Yes.”
“A prisoner at liberty to roam about the house armed with a loaded revolver? Is that what you mean?”
“Some little time ago a woman came to me—I was locked in a room at the top of the house—and gave me the revolver and told me I could leave.”