"That can look after itself until the inquest is over. Then, when I have seen Mona, and her future is settled by Martaban—her living and income and all that I mean—we can look into matters. I am as keen as you are to get at the truth of these two murders, Dorry. We can dispense with Horace."
"I wish I knew exactly why he backed out," muttered Prelice thoughtfully; "it is so unlike Horace to jib."
"Perhaps he has something to do with the matter himself, seeing that he possessed the Sacred Herb," said Shepworth jocularly.
"Nonsense. Horace would kill one man and a dozen men in fair fight, but he's not the chap to stick anyone in the back. By the way, tell me one thing, Ned. This lady, who came in with Agstone, and waved the cup under your nose to make you insensible—she wore a green mask, you said?"
"Yes; and a green domino also."
Prelice nodded. "Did you catch a glimpse of her frock by any chance, or did your senses fail you?"
"They did not fail me too quickly. I did see her frock. It was a white dress with thin lines of red running horizontally across it."
"Many lines?" asked Prelice breathlessly.
"It seemed to be ruled like a page of music," said Shepworth. "Why, what is the matter?"
"Matter!" echoed Prelice, who had risen and was dancing round the room like a school-boy. "What you say gives me a clue. I saw that dress at the ball. The lady who wore it was scented with tuberoses——"