"I think," said Mr.. Eddleston, clearing his throat, "that I ought to be present, Chief Inspector, if you wish to question Miss Haddington on any serious matter."
"I have no objection to your presence, sir."
"No, no, I don't want him!" Cynthia said. "I'll go with you, if you swear you aren't going to do anything to me!"
"No, miss, I'm not going to do anything to you at all."
"Well!" said Miss Pickhill. "I'm sure I don't know what the world is coming to! I consider this most extraordinary!"
Nobody paid any attention to this, Hemingway merely opening the door for Cynthia to pass out of the room, and Mr.. Eddleston looking as though he were uncertain what to do.
A fire was burning in the drawing-room, and Hemingway suggested to Cynthia that she should sit down beside it. She seemed relieved by this humane invitation, but poised herself on the very edge of one of the deep armchairs, and, for once in her life, sat bolt upright. Her eyes watched the two detectives warily, with something in them of a child caught out in wrongdoing.
Hemingway said: "Now, miss, we won't beat about the bush. I know just what you've been up to and very wrong of you it was, which I'll be bound you know already, for I think Mr.. Seaton-Carew warned you that there would be bad trouble if anyone found out you had cocaine in your possession, didn't he?"
She gave a frightened nod, catching her breath on a sob.
"When did he start giving you the stuff?"