Westenhanger stepped over to Rollo’s side and lowered his voice so that only the old man could hear.
“Take my word for it. I’m afraid I’ve stumbled on the Dangerfield Secret, and I’d rather say nothing to put other people on the track.”
Rollo could take a blow without wincing. Apart from the dismay in his eyes, he showed nothing to mark that he had been touched on his most sensitive spot.
“Very well, Mr. Westenhanger. Do as you please. And thanks for your restraint.”
He raised his voice and spoke to the company at large.
“I’m sorry that I inadvertently threw doubt on Mr. Westenhanger’s statement. He knows best.”
Westenhanger pressed his point.
“Do you deny that your finger-prints are there?”
Mrs. Caistor Scorton had seized on Rollo’s intervention as a possible way opening to safety; but with his recantation she seemed to lose heart completely.
“Well, I took it, then,” she admitted. “I couldn’t help it. I’m a kleptomaniac. I can’t help taking glittering things like these. I’m not a thief. I don’t steal for money. I don’t need money. It’s simply I can’t help taking some things. They fascinate me. I simply have to take them. I’ve fought against it, but it’s no good.”