Did Beryl know—should she know? Suppose she went to her and told her the crazy theory she had? Beryl would doubt her sanity. No, no good would come of precipitancy. She must be sure, thought Christina, lying on her bed, her hand at her mouth as though she feared that she might involuntarily cry her news aloud.
No particulars of Ambrose Sault's death had appeared in the press. The longest notice was one which, after a brief reference to the execution, went on to give details concerning the crime. Practically the references to the execution were similar:
"Ambrose Sault was executed at Wechester Jail yesterday morning for the murder of Paul Moropulos. The condemned man walked with a firm step to the gallows and death was instantaneous. He made no statement. Billet was the executioner."
The hangman always received his puff. When she had been staying with Beryl, she had met Sir John Maxton; he had returned on the morning of the execution and had come straight to the house. He had said nothing that gave her any impression except that Ambrose had died bravely. Would he have heard anything later? She made up her mind, dressed and went out. There was a telephone a block away and she got through to Sir John's chambers in the Temple. To her relief he answered the telephone himself.
"Is that you, Sir John? It is Christina Colebrook—yes—I'm very well. Can I see you, Sir John? Any time, now if you wish. I could be with you in twenty minutes—oh, thank you—thank you so much."
A bus dropped her in Fleet Street and she walked through the Temple grounds to the ugly and dreary buildings where he rented chambers. They were on the ground floor, happily; Christina was still a semi-invalid.
"You've come to ask me about Sault!" he said as soon as she was announced.
"Why do you think that?" she smiled.
"I guessed. I suppose Ronnie has told everybody about the ghastly business. It seems impossible, impossible that he could have shown the white feather as he did," said Sir John. "I can hardly believe it is true, and yet when I got into touch with the deputy governor, he told me very much the same story—that one moment Sault was calm and literally smiling at death; the very next instant he was—pitiful, blubbering like a child. I hate telling you this, because I know you were such dear friends, but—you want to know?"
She inclined her head.