"Oh, yes, it is. When Miss Bull saw that the game was up she sat down and admitted that she had killed Mrs. Jersey. She also said that she was glad the truth had come to light, that she wished to die, and so on."
"She was raving," said George, incredulously, not thinking any one would incriminate himself or herself so freely.
"No, she wasn't. She told me the whole story in the calmest manner, just as though she were asking me to have a cup of tea. Then she asked me to send for you and sat down to play Patience."
"I wonder you are not having her watched," said George, with scorn.
"Oh, she won't run away," replied Bawdsey, easily, and not perceiving the irony of the remark. "Come along, Mr. Vane, we'll go down and see her. She is desperately anxious to see you."
"Do any of the boarders know?"
"Not yet, but they will when she is arrested."
George shuddered and followed Bawdsey down the stairs. It seemed terrible to him that such a fragile little creature as Miss Bull should be subjected to this disgrace. He did not condone her crime. She had acted wrongly and must take the consequences. But he could not forget that she was Dorothy's aunt, and he wished he could see some way of rescuing her from this dreadful position.
Miss Bull was--as Bawdsey had stated--playing Patience. Seated at the very table where her victim had sat, she dealt the cards, and seemed quite interested in the game. Margery was seated in a chair near at hand, looking with tearful eyes into the face of her friend. Beyond the fact that Miss Bull was whiter than usual, she showed no signs of emotion.
"You have come, George," she said, addressing him by his name. "I am glad to see you. Mr. Bawdsey, you may go."