“There is,” Major Swan was saying, “just one other matter upon which I should like to question Lady O’Moy.” And thereupon he proceeded to do so: “Your ladyship will remember that on the day before the event in which Count Samoval met his death he was one of a small luncheon party at your house here in Monsanto.”
“Yes,” she replied, wondering fearfully what might be coming now.
“Would your ladyship be good enough to tell the court who were the other members of that party?”
“It—it was hardly a party, sir,” she answered, with her unconquerable insistence upon trifles. “We were just Sir Terence and myself, Miss Armytage, Count Samoval, Colonel Grant, Major Carruthers and Captain Tremayne.”
“Can your ladyship recall any words that passed between the deceased and Captain Tremayne on that occasion—words of disagreement, I mean?”
She knew that there had been something, but in her benumbed state of mind she was incapable of remembering what it was. All that remained in her memory was Sylvia’s warning after she and her cousin had left the table, Sylvia’s insistence that she should call Captain Tremayne away to avoid trouble between himself and the Count. But, search as she would, the actual subject of disagreement eluded her. Moreover, it occurred to her suddenly, and sowed fresh terror in her soul, that, whatever it was, it would tell against Captain Tremayne.
“I—I am afraid I don’t remember,” she faltered at last.
“Try to think, Lady O’Moy.”
“I—I have tried. But I—I can’t.” Her voice had fallen almost to a whisper.
“Need we insist?” put in the president compassionately. “There are sufficient witnesses as to what passed on that occasion without further harassing her ladyship.”