“And quite right too,” came emphatically from The Tundish, and, “Yes, I should think so indeed,” from Ethel.
“Then it amounts to this,” continued Allport, who seemed quite callous to the girl’s obvious and natural embarrassment, “you had the key at three o’clock yesterday, and you missed it at eleven o’clock when you went to bed. I suppose you made a thorough search of all your pockets and your bedroom and so forth?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, will you please go into the dispensary and write down very carefully and in full detail exactly what you did and where you went, between three and eleven o’clock yesterday? That’s all I want for the present.”
Miss Summerson had barely reached the door, however, when he called her back again and asked her to show him the other keys. She fumbled about underneath her coverall and produced a small bunch of keys on a ring at the end of a chain.
“Tell me exactly how the other key was fastened to these.”
“It was on a little ring by itself fastened to this ring by a short piece of leather lace.”
“But what a most extraordinary arrangement! Why didn’t you keep it on that ring along with the rest? It would have been safer, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose so, but these are my own keys, and I wanted to keep the other separate.”
“Why?”