The detective looked angrily over his shoulder at the clock.
“I never went at all,” she sobbed at length, turning toward The Tundish. “I told you an untruth about going to Millingham—I—I—w-wanted the time off and thought that you would be more likely to let me go if I gave some definite reason. I am so very sorry.” She dried her eyes, and having made her little confession seemed to regain some of her composure.
“But what has all that got to do with your losing the key?” Allport snapped. “Please do answer my question.”
She explained that she carried the keys in a special pocket that she wore underneath her skirt. They were apparently secured to a chain attached to some part of her underwear—five or six on one ring, and the key of the cupboard, being especially important, on a ring of its own, connected to the rest by a piece of leather lace. When she had opened the cupboard on Tuesday morning she had noticed that the leather was becoming frayed, and had made up her mind to have it renewed. The key was there when she locked up the cupboard at three o’clock the same afternoon, and she had put it back in her pocket as usual and had then gone home. She didn’t notice that the lace was broken, and the ring with the key gone, until she undressed on going to bed.
“What did you do then?”
“Nothing, what could I do? It was eleven o’clock.”
“But surely you ought to have come and told the doctor first thing in the morning—it was rather an important key to lose, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but I thought that most likely it must have dropped out on to the dispensary floor. I don’t use the pocket for anything but for the keys.”
“Where were you this morning? In Merchester?”
“Yes, first thing.”