"Is anything wrong?" Her voice shook for a second, but she recovered herself. "You see," she made an attempt to smile. "I have been in the house for two or three days, and I have seen neither Odette nor—nor anybody else," she added quickly.
Who was she expecting to see, wondered Tarling, and why did she check herself? Was it possible that she had not heard of the murder? He determined to test her.
"Your daughter is probably detained in town owing to Mr. Lyne's death," he said, watching her closely.
She started and went white.
"Mr. Lyne's death?" she stammered. "Has he died? That young man?"
"He was murdered in Hyde Park yesterday morning," said Tarling, and she staggered back and collapsed into a chair.
"Murdered! Murdered!" she whispered. "Oh, God! Not that, not that!"
Her face was ashen white, and she was shaking in every limb, this stately woman who had walked so serenely into the drawing-room a few minutes before.
Presently she covered her face with her hands and began to weep softly and Tarling waited.
"Did you know Mr. Lyne?" he asked after a while.