"What about the stiletto?"
"It was lying on the floor near the table. I saw it glittering in the lamplight. As there was blood on it and I saw the wound, I knew that Mrs. Jersey had been killed by it. I slipped it into my pocket with a vague idea that thereby I might trace the assassin."
"Did you leave it purposely in the coat?"
"No," said Bawdsey, frankly. "I did not. I was so moved and--as a woman would say--flustered by the death, that I forgot all about it. Lord Derrington woke up and went home. I said nothing about the murder to him at the time. I had not the nerve. It was only after he departed that I remembered the stiletto. I thought he might make a row and accuse me of the crime. But he said nothing, and I judged it wise to let sleeping dogs lie. So that is all I can tell you, Mr. Brendon, and you will see that I am not such a bad man as you try to make out."
"Oh, you have spoken clearly enough," said George. Then after a pause, "Yes, I think you are honest, so far as I can judge. I trust you."
Bawdsey looked delighted. "Will you have a glass of wine with me to show that?" he asked rising.
"On the Arab principle of bread and salt?" said Brendon. "Certainly."
Bawdsey nodded in a pleased manner, and went to his sideboard at the end of the room. George mechanically took up the newspaper. His eyes were caught by a cross-heading--"Strange Affair in an Essex Church," and by the words "destruction of the registers." Just as he was about to glance over the article, never thinking what it meant to him, Bawdsey returned with the wine and two glasses. He uttered an exclamation of dismay when he saw the paper in George's hand.
"Hang it, I never meant you to see that!" he said.
"Why not?" replied George. "Is it this news about a lady trying to tear the registers?" He started and looked at Bawdsey, who was uneasy and pale. "It's Lola!" said George.