Winter was glad that a man whom he firmly believed to be innocent of any share in the crime had made an admission that might have told against him under hostile examination.
"Suppose—just suppose—" he said, "that the housemaid, being hysterical with fright, gave evidence that you were in Feldisham Mansions at half-past seven—how would you explain it?"
"Your own words 'hysterical with fright' might serve as her excuse. At half-past seven I was arguing against the ever-increasing height of polo ponies, with the rest of the committee against me. Does the girl say any such thing?"
"Girls are queer sometimes," commented Winter airily. "But let that pass. I understand, Mr. Osborne, that you have given instructions to the undertaker?"
Rupert flinched a little.
"What choice had I in the matter?" he demanded. "I thought that Mademoiselle de Bercy was an orphan—that all her relatives were dead."
"Ah, yes. Even now, I fancy, you mean to attend the funeral to-morrow?"
"Of course. Do you imagine I would desert my promised wife at such an hour—no matter what was revealed——"
"No, Mr. Osborne, I did not think it for one instant. And that brings me to the main object of my visit. Please be advised by me—don't go to the funeral. Better still, leave London for a few days. Lose yourself till the day before the adjourned inquest."
"But why—in Heaven's name?"