“Yes, and he is a very good chauffeur. What then? Why should you arrest him?” She talked very fast. “I don’t understand it at all. I don’t understand what you want me to say.”
“Only the truth,” said Reggie gently out of the shadow.
“What do you mean by the truth? I know nothing about what he had. I can’t imagine, I can’t conceive”—her voice went up high—“how he could have Miss Sheridan’s cigarette-case. If he really had.”
“Oh, he had it all right,” said Inspector Oxtoby.
“Why, then perhaps she gave it him.” She laughed so suddenly that the men looked at each other. “Have you asked him? What did he say? I know nothing about Miss Sheridan.”
“You can tell us nothing?” said Reggie.
“What should I tell you?” she cried.
There was silence but for the scratching of the Inspector’s pen. “Very good, madam,” he said. “You have no explanation. I had better tell you the case will go into court. Thank you for coming. Would you like to have the car back?”
“What has Loveday said?” She leaned forward.
“He’s asked for his solicitor, madam. That’s all.”