“God knows! The fellow got in. It doesn’t much matter how. A false key, I suppose.”
“Does anyone know?”
“Not a soul, except us.”
Sir Seymour was silent. He had realized at once that Miss Van Tuyn was safe now, safe, too, from further scandal, unless Garstin chose to make trouble. He looked at the painter, and from him to the inspector.
“What are you going to do?” he said to Dick Garstin.
“I don’t know!” said Garstin.
And he flung himself down on the old sofa by the wall.
“I don’t know!”
For a moment he put his hands up to his temples and stared on the ground. As he sat there thus he looked like a man who had just been thrashed. After a moment Sir Seymour went over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
Garstin looked up.