It was the new-comer's turn to exclaim. "Clara's here? Where?"
"Here!"
Her attention was directed to the figure of Mrs Bankes, who was still recumbent on the floor, though fortunately Penfold had somewhat softened the vigour of her attentions. The new-comer stared at the prostrate lady.
"Clara! That's not Clara!"
"Not Clara? Don't talk rubbish! It's her, right enough!"
"I don't know who that is, and I don't know what you're playing off on me, but I do know that's not Clara Harvey. I've known her pretty well all my life; if I don't know her, I don't know who does, and I tell you that's no more Clara Harvey than I am."
On the faces of the four women were looks of stupefied amazement. Penfold shook the recipient of her tender mercies.
"Now then, wake up there, you ain't quite dead. Ain't you, Clara?"
"No!" Mrs Bankes just managed to gasp.
On the table lay her purse, with its contents displayed to the public gaze. The new-comer took up the visiting card.