“No, I know nothing about it.”
“Then,” said the coroner suavely, “we’ll have Lady Clevedon.”
The old lady took her seat in the chair and sat bending a little forward, her hands on her knees.
“Is this your hatpin, Lady Clevedon?”
“Yes.”
“Do you identify it as your property?”
“I have already told you it is mine.”
“Do you know how it got to White Towers?”
“If you mean did I go and stab—?”
“I did not mean that, Lady Clevedon. I asked you a very simple question. Do you know how that hatpin got to White Towers?”