"As to your character," said T. B. magnanimously, "we will not go into the question. So far as you are concerned, I shall take you into custody on a charge of obtaining property by false pretences," said T. B. calmly.
"What?"
"Your name is Mary Brown, and I shall charge you with having obtained the sum of £350 by a trick from a West Indian gentleman at Barbadoes last March."
She sprang to her feet, her eyes blazing.
"You know that is false and ridiculous," she said steadily. "What is the meaning of it?"
T. B. shrugged his shoulders.
"Would you prefer that I should charge 'La Belle Espagnole' with being an accessory to murder?" he asked, with a lift of his eyebrows.
"You could not prove it!" she challenged.
"Of that I am aware," he said. "I have taken the trouble to trace your movements. When these murders were committed you were fulfilling an engagement at the Philharmonic, but you knew of the murder, I'll swear—you are an agent of N.H.C."
"So it was you who found my handkerchief?"