CHAPTER XXI
QUESTIONS—AND ANSWERS
A murmur of amazement went round the room, like the sound of rising wind. The coroner held up his hand for silence.
"You say it is yours, Miss Brellier? This—this is really most remarkable—most remarkable! The revolver is of French make, is it not? You bought it abroad?"
"I did. Just before I first came to England. I had been travelling through Tunis before that, and—well, one doesn't like to be without these things. Sir Nigel's revolver came from India, I believe—through the agents of a French firm, the makers."
"But—" The coroner's voice was low-pitched, incredulous, "are you trying to tell us you fired a shot that night, Miss Brellier?"
She shook her head, smiling.
"No—that would be impossible. But my revolver has always lain in that little secrétaire, and I have never had cause to use it since I have been on this side of the Channel. I was in bed early that night, with a headache. My uncle will tell you that. He took me to my room and spent the rest of the evening in his study, as you have already heard from him. No, I cannot say I murdered Dacre Wynne. Though I would say that or anything to save Nigel. But I didn't discover that this little revolver of mine had ever been fired until yesterday, when I happened to go to my secrétaire for a letter which I had locked away in that particular drawer. Then I took it up and chanced to examine it—I don't know why. Perhaps because it was the same as Nigel's, I—" she choked suddenly, and bit at her lips for control. "Is there not a loophole here, sir, by which Sir Nigel might be saved? Surely it must be traced who used this revolver, who fired the shot from it?"
Her voice had risen to a piteous note that brought the tears to many eyes in that crowded room. The coroner coughed. Then he glanced enquiringly over at Brellier, who had risen from his seat.
"You have something to say about this, Mr. Brellier?"