“Then you’re not the wife of Ethel’s cousin, Bob Kenley at all? You’re a——”
“Yes, I’m a——” she said, quietly amused.
“But Mrs. Hanson’s letter—did he forge it?”
“Oh, no. She wrote it right enough, but at his request. He went down to Folkestone last night and sent me a wire before he started, telling me to hold myself in readiness. We came to Merchester together this morning, and he gave me full details on the way.”
“But he couldn’t have got to Folkestone last night in time for Mrs. Hanson to write——”
“Oh, yes he did, though. He went by aeroplane from here, explained the whole affair to Mrs. Hanson, and persuaded her to write the letter. That was why he made you all promise that you wouldn’t write to any one mentioning the murder. He was afraid Ethel and the doctor might think it peculiar if Mrs. Hanson didn’t come back from Folkestone, and he wanted you all to remain here just by yourselves and no further additions made to the household.”
I had to admit that Mrs. Kenley had played her part to perfection, but somehow I didn’t quite like the idea of our all being bottled up in Dalehouse for her to play the spy on, and I think she understood my feelings, for she turned to me with a deprecating little gesture. “I’m sorry, you do see that it was the only thing to do, and as for me—well, I had to obey my instructions.”
“And now, why does Mr. Allport want me to know?”
“He didn’t. If you hadn’t caught us together we shouldn’t have told you anything, though I’m not at all sure that it hasn’t turned out for the best. I may as well tell you that we are all in some danger. Mr. Allport wanted me to leave the house to-night and to break up the house party right away, but I persuaded him to let me stay until to-morrow.”
“Why does he think the danger greater to-night than it has been hitherto?”