As she was about to break in he put up his hand:
“Let me have my say out, please—and then I will listen to whatever you may have to say. I have something to tell you concerning this woman, Agatha Cheale. She lately communicated to the Prosecution a sworn statement that she saw a stranger in the Thatched House on the afternoon of Mrs. Garlett’s death. She further says she saw him close to Mrs. Garlett’s bedroom door. The prosecution do not believe this story, and neither does our side.”
“Yet it may be true!” exclaimed Jean desperately.
The great advocate went on as if he had not heard her:
“Now my theory is this: First, this woman, Agatha Cheale, was undoubtedly in love with Garlett; and she considered herself very much aggrieved when she learned of the man’s forthcoming marriage to yourself.”
He saw Jean’s face change, become discomposed, and, speaking a little less harshly, he went on:
“Come, come, you mustn’t mind hearing the truth! I take it you would rather know the truth?”
She bent her head.
“Secondly, to me, and also, I may add, to my brethren of the law on the other side, it soon became practically certain that Miss Cheale had written the anonymous letters, so what you have brought me to-night simply confirms our view. Now, Miss Cheale, to the best of my belief”—he looked at her significantly—“did this out of what I must call, saving your presence, feminine spite. I am quite sure she had no idea that Mrs. Garlett had met with anything but a natural death. What she wished to do was to give Henry Garlett, and no doubt yourself, too, a very unpleasant quarter of an hour. If this theory is correct, the result of the exhumation astounded her and caused her to realize that, thanks to her spiteful action, the man to whom she seems to be still devoted is in great peril of his life. This is why she has hit on the absurd, though in such cases common, invention of a mysterious stranger.”
He stopped speaking, and in a strangled voice Jean exclaimed: