"I don't see what it's got to do with you."
"It's got this much to do with me—that he came to me this morning with a story so absurd that it proves that he can't be altogether right in his head. He told me that he had confided this absurd story to you."
There was no answer.
"I don't suppose," Olva went on at last gently, "that we've either of us got very much time, and there's a great deal to be done, so let's go straight to it. Bunning told me this morning that he declared to you yesterday that he—of all people in the world—had murdered Carfax."
"Yes," at last Craven sullenly muttered, "he told me that."
"And of course you didn't believe it?"
"I didn't believe that he'd done it—no. But he knows who did do it. He's got all the details. Some one has told him."
Craven was trembling. Olva pushed a chair towards him.
"Look here, you'd better sit down."
Craven sat down.