"What's this? Mrs Frank Bankes, The Chestnuts, Tuesdays, 4 to 6."
"I'm Mrs Frank Bankes," murmured the owner of that name.
The new-comer darted forward.
"Not Mrs Frank Bankes, of Colchester? Not the wife of Frank Bankes, the solicitor, who's undertaken the prosecution of Mary Griffiths?"
"I'm his wife."
The new-comer evinced all the symptoms of mental disturbance. She stared at Edith as if she were a ghost. Then looked at the others with eyes in which were both anger and amazement.
"What--what's the meaning of this? What tomfoolery have you been up to? How came she here?"
The little woman advanced to the front.
"It is for her to explain, not us. She came here with Ricketts as Clara Harvey; she allowed us to believe she was Clara Harvey. You know neither of us four has ever seen Clara Harvey; we never supposed, therefore, that she could be anyone else!" She spoke to Edith. "Why did you pass yourself off as someone else?"
"I didn't. I told you there was a mistake. I wanted to explain but you wouldn't let me."