Amy gave a muffled exclamation, but almost instantly she regained her composure.
"If that is so, how do you connect me with it? Because it happens to have been found here, do you accuse me of having robbed my cousin?"
"No, my lady, but as you spent the night of the murder in Newhaven——"
To Cyril's surprise she shuddered from head to foot.
"No, no!" she cried, stretching out her hands as if to ward off a blow.
"It is useless to deny it. His Lordship himself told me that you had joined him there."
"I lied! It was not her Ladyship who was with me. Her Ladyship was in Paris at the time. I swear it on my honour. The bag is—is mine. You can arrest me. I am guilty." Thank God, thought Cyril, he had at last found a way of saving both his love and his honour.
"Guilty of what, my lord? Of a murder which was committed while you were still in France—" asked Griggs, lifting his eyebrows incredulously.
"Yes! I mean I instigated it—I hated my cousin—I needed the money, so I hired an accomplice. He bungled things. I give myself up. I confess. What more do you want?" cried Cyril.
"Not so fast, my lord. Of course, if you insist upon it, I shall have to arrest you, but I don't believe you had anything more to do with the murder than I had, and I would stake my reputation on your being as straight a gentleman as I ever met professionally. Wait a bit, my lord, don't be 'asty." In his excitement Griggs dropped one of his carefully guarded aitches.