"Mrs. Vence says so. She told me."
"Then she's a liar."
Lady Wyke shrugged her shoulders. "You'll have to make a stronger defence than that Mr. Lemby. We may as well be plain with one another. I have asked Mrs. Vence to come down here, and she will be in this house on Friday evening. I shan't be here to receive her, unfortunately, as I have to go to London to get that will of mine destroyed."
"What will?"
"One I made in favour of Mr. Craver."
"He told me," nodded Lemby. "Silly business, seeing that a marriage makes it so much waste paper."
"Oh, Mr. Craver has found that out, has he?" said Lady Wyke calmly. "I thought he wasn't clever enough. Yes, it was a false move on my part, and I'm going to tear up the will. It's of no use now. I only made it to try and get Mr. Craver to marry me. Well, then, I'm going up on Friday for that purpose, and will return on Saturday evening. But you must not see Mrs. Vence in the meantime, and I shall leave word that she is not to see you. When I return, then, in my presence, you can meet her and defend yourself."
"It's all dashed rot!" cried Lemby, with disgust. "I never killed the man, nor did Craver."
"Then who did?"
"Might have been Mrs. Vence."