“You sprained your ankle one day?”
“I twisted it slightly. It was painful for a few hours, but not really much the worse.”
“You fell?”
“I did not fall. I should have done so, but Colonel Domlio sprang forward and caught me and helped me down on to the grass. In a few minutes I was better.”
“Now, Mrs. Berlyn,” and French’s voice was very grave, “what you have to do is to convince me that that fall into Colonel Domlio’s arms really was an accident.”
For a moment the lady looked at him uncomprehendingly; then she flushed angrily.
“Oh,” she cried with a gesture of disgust, “how dare you? This is insufferable! I shall not answer you. If you are coming here to insult me I shall apply for protection to your superiors at Scotland Yard.”
“If I were you I should keep away from Scotland Yard as long as you can,” French advised, drily. “In a case like this heroics will not help you any. Tell me, did you know there was a photographer watching the incident?”
“No,” she answered sullenly, while again her face showed fear.
“You knew there wasn’t?”