"That is news to you, Mr. Furneaux," she cried. "Yet I thought you were so clever as to be almost omniscient. Come now with me, and I shall prove to you that the so-called identification of Mr. Osborne by Hester Bates and Campbell, the chauffeur, is a myth. The hysterical housemaid I leave to you."
Winter leaned back in his chair and waved an expostulating hand.
"'Pon my honor, this would be amusing if it were not so terribly serious for Osborne," he vowed.
"If that is all, I prefer to depend on the Home Secretary," said Rosalind.
"Let her go," purred Hylda contemptuously. "I can make good my boast, but she cannot."
"Boasting is of no avail in defeating a charge of murder," said Furneaux. "Before we even begin to take you seriously, Miss Prout, we must know what you actually mean by your words."
"I mean this—that I, myself, will appear before Hester Bates in such guise that she will swear it was me, and not Mr. Osborne, whom she saw on the stairs that night. If that does not suffice, I shall meet Campbell at the corner of Berkeley Street, if you can arrange for his presence there, and tell him to drive me to Feldisham Mansions, and he will swear that it was I, and not Mr. Osborne, who gave him that same order on the night of the third of July. Surely, if I accomplish so much, you will set Rupert at liberty. Believe me, I am not afraid that you will commit the crowning blunder of arresting me for the murder, after having arrested Janoc, and his sister, and Rupert."
Winter positively started. So did Furneaux. Evidently they were perturbed by the extent of her information. Hylda saw the concern depicted on their faces; she laughed low, musically, full-throated.
"Well, is it a bargain?" she taunted them.
"Of course——" began Winter, and stopped.