Nan went up to Gavan with a harassed face. She didn't want to talk to Mr. Singleton. "Could you, do you think—"
She left him at Sir James's writing-table, and went back to make the cushions comfortable.
"Oh, you're speaking for her, are you?" Singleton said. "Well, you can tell her, then, that the play is ausgespielt."
"What do you mean?" Gavan's voice was sharp. "They didn't go back on their word?"
"No, no; and she took the finding of the court this morning gamely enough—death-sentence, commuted to imprisonment for life. They let me see her a minute before she was taken back to her cell. Game? Never saw anything like it, till I proved to her that Ernst was acting for us. That got her! But when they came to take her away, she was quiet enough. 'Tired,' she said. Thought she'd sleep at last. 'Rather a strain, these last days.' When they went in with her food—dead."
"What? Say it again."
"Dead!" Singleton repeated.
"Heart?"
"Not a bit of it. You remember my saying to you at Lamborough that we'd found everything except a pinch of white powder? She had it all right. Jove! I wish we had one or two to match her!"
Gavan hung up the receiver and turned back to the figure at the fire.