Silence followed. She plucked angrily at the lace edge of her gown. Inspector Fay waited imperturbably.
"He was with me," she said, at last, sullenly.
"Thank you," said the inspector.
There was another pause.
"Please go on," he pressed her.
She did not attempt to conceal her resentment at his insistence. But the inspector's attitude was compelling.
"We had a private conversation," she said viciously. "What passed between us concerned only ourselves."
"I have no wish to pry into that," he told her. "But I should like to know why both you and Mr. Copplestone preferred to tell me a falsehood rather than admit that you were talking together in the garden."
"We had our reasons," she snapped, "for not wishing it to be known that we had been together. We had no time to speak privately after the crime was discovered, and it evidently seemed best to both of us, rather than risk conflicting statements, not to admit that we had spoken to each other at all. I hope you have nothing more to ask me."
The inspector rose.