"Quite," she answered. "I did not speak to Mr. Henshaw or even notice him in the ball-room."
"You had—pardon these questions; I am putting this in your own interest—you had at no time any acquaintance with Mr. Clement Henshaw?"
"I can hardly say that I had," the girl replied; "although a friend has told me that I played tennis with him at a garden-party some years ago."
"A circumstance which you do not recollect?" The question was put politely, even sympathetically, yet with a certain uncomfortable directness.
"No," Muriel answered. "Even when I was reminded of it, my recollection was of the vaguest description. So far as that goes I could neither admit nor deny it with any certainty."
"And naturally you never, to your knowledge, saw or communicated with the deceased man since?"
Muriel flushed. "No; absolutely no," she returned with a touch of resentment at the suggestion.
Major Freeman forbore to distress the girl by any further questioning. "Thank you," he said simply. "I am sorry to have even appeared to suggest such a thing, but you and your friends will appreciate that it was my duty to ask these questions. This looks at the moment," he continued, addressing himself now to the party in general, "like proving a very mysterious, and I will add, peculiarly delicate affair. The medical evidence is inclined to scout the idea of suicide, and my men who have the case in hand are coming round to the conclusion that the theory is untenable."
"The locked door—" Morriston suggested.
"The locked door," said Major Freeman, "presents a difficulty, but still one not absolutely incapable of solution. We know," he added, with a faint smile, "from the way the door was eventually opened, that a key can be turned from the other side, given the right instrument to effect it."