"Get up, Mrs. Vence," said Purse, briefly.
"It's--not--Mrs. Vence," quavered Claudia, in a shaky voice. "It's Lady Wyke."
"Gosh!" gasped the sergeant, astonished for once in his official life. "Do you mean to say that she murdered her husband?"
There was no answer from either woman. Lady Wyke rolled on the dry grass cursing freely, while Claudia sat down on a convenient rock to clasp her hands tightly and keep herself from trembling--in fact, from breaking down altogether. No one else was at hand, as the policemen at the rectory had not heard the whistle, and Purse had waved back the coastguards who seemed disposed to approach. He did not wish anyone should share the glory of his capture, and desired then and there to hear Lady Wyke's story, so that he could be sure he had arrested the right person.
"Now, then," said Purse, shaking his finger at her sternly, "what have you to say, madam? Remember, anything you do say will be used in evidence against you."
"Oh," sneered Lady Wyke, looking very white and very vicious, "and you think that I'll be fool enough to speak after that warning. How dare you arrest an innocent person such as I am!"
"You are guilty," said Claudia, hoarsely. "You murdered Sir Hector."
"It's a lie."
"Neddy Mellin can prove it."
"Then until he does, I am guiltless," raged the woman, furiously. "Take these handcuffs off, man."