'She had heard you talking—in the house—on a certain——'
He looked up timidly, and met a flash of derisive scorn.
'She heard me talking? Hugh, I really don't see much art in this. You seem to have been wrought upon rather easily. It never occurred to you, I suppose, to ask for a precise date?'
He mentioned the day, and Sibyl, turning her head a little, appeared to reflect.
'It's unfortunate; I remember nothing whatever of that date. I'm afraid, Hugh, that I couldn't possibly prove an alibi.'
Her smiling sarcasm made the man wince. His broad shoulders shrank together; he stood in an awkward, swaying posture.
'Dear, I told her she lied!'
'That was very courageous. But what came next? You had the happy idea of going to Wimbledon to make personal inquiries?'
'Try to put yourself in my place, Sibyl,' he pleaded. 'Remember all the circumstances. Can't you see the danger of such a lie as that? I went home, hoping to find you there. But you had gone, and nobody knew where—you wouldn't be back that night. A telegram had called you away, I was told. When I asked where you told the cabman to drive you to—the post-office.'
'Oh, it looked very black!—yes, yes, I quite understand. The facts are so commonplace that I'm really ashamed to mention them. At luncheon-time came an urgent telegram from Weymouth. I sent no reply then, because I thought I knew that you were on your way. But when I was ready to start, it occurred to me that I should save you trouble by wiring that I should join you as soon as possible—so I drove to the post-office before going to Paddington.—Well, you rushed off to Wimbledon?'