“I must tell you,” he said, “that if you know of anything that would explain even the smallest detail in the sequence of events that led to his death, you should let the police know what it is. On the other hand we cannot compel you to give information. You may think it advisable to send for your solicitor who, if he considers that you are likely to prejudice yourself by answering any question, will advise you not to do so.”
“I know very well,” said Lady Wutherwood, “by what means I may be brought to betray myself into a confession of things I have not done and words I have never uttered. But I remember Marguerite Luondman of Gebweiler and Anna Ruffa of Douzy. As for a solicitor, I have no need or desire for such protection. I am well protected. I am in no danger.”
“In that case,” said Alleyn equitably, “you will not object, perhaps, to answering one or two questions.”
She did not reply. He waited for a moment and had time to notice the scandalized expression of Mr. Fox, and the alert and speculative glances of the two doctors.
“Lady Wutherwood,” said Alleyn, “who took you down in the lift?”
She answered at once: “It seemed to be one of his nephews.”
“Seemed?”
Lady Wutherwood laughed. “Yes,” she said, “seemed.”
“I don’t understand that,” said Alleyn. “Lady Charles Lamprey asked for one of her sons to take you down in the lift, didn’t she?”
Lady Wutherwood nodded.