“That’s right,” said Ivy, gravely. “Pile it on thick. I just lap it up. Do you think I’m pretty?”
“Yes,” Phyllis returned, simply. “Now, tell me again, why did you think the—the person Mr Gleason said those things to was myself, when you never had seen me—and you say you couldn’t hear me.”
“Well, when the bell rang, Mr Gleason said it was you. That he expected you.”
Phyllis turned pale. “Go on,” she said.
“That’s all. He said, ‘That’s Miss Lindsay coming up. You go.’ So I went. I hung around a few moments, trying to get a glimpse of you, but I couldn’t. I heard you speak, but you spoke so low, and the door was almost shut, so I couldn’t hear a word you said.”
“Well,” Phyllis drew a long breath. “If I was there—I didn’t kill Mr Gleason.”
“Of course you didn’t!” Ivy exclaimed. Then, with a look deep into Phyllis’ eyes, she added, “And you weren’t there. I know it now!”
“How do you know it?”
“Oh, it’s come to me. You were not there that day at all, Miss Lindsay. As you say, you’ve never been there.”
Ivy looked very grave. She gazed at Phyllis with a strange look of divination, and added, “I know you haven’t.”