"Well," drawled Prelice reflectively, "on the face of it, there appears to be no reason, and yet this sham frock is in this rubbish cupboard."
"Dolly can explain," breathed Mrs. Rover hopefully.
"Can he explain why he entered Ned's flat to——"
"He didn't, he didn't—it's impossible, I tell you."
"Constance," declared the other seriously, "you said yourself that Mr. Rover would be glad to see Ned dead, out of sheer jealousy. I quite believe that, and I believe also that he had not the pluck to kill him. But he did his best to get Ned into trouble——"
"By killing Agstone? What rubbish," cried Mrs. Rover feverishly. "If he killed the one he would have murdered the other, and would have chosen Ned in preference."
"Humph! Perhaps with a refinement of cruelty, Rover wished Ned to be hanged, and so slaughtered Agstone, in the hope that Ned would be accused. And accused Ned would have been," cried Prelice decisively, "but that I brought in your guests to see him helpless."
Mrs. Rover twisted her hands in her hair. "It's impossible, I tell you," she lamented, hoping against hope. "Dolly is a fool, he never would be a murderer. He hasn't the pluck. Heaven knows that I have no cause to love him, and that he stands in the way of my happiness. But I tell you, Dorry, that I would have cut off my right hand sooner than have brought you in here to spy out his shame."
"I am glad to hear you say that, Constance," returned Prelice quietly, "for it shows that you have honour if not love, and that, even to secure your happiness with Ned, you will not stoop to injure the man who is your husband. But think, my dear girl, is it not better that I should find this than Jadby?"
"Jadby—the man who loves Mona! What has he got to do with it?"