She would have given much to prevent her hand shaking, and something to be able to look him in the face. She did succeed in maintaining outward composure; for agitation is more clearly felt than perceived. But she could not force the colour to her cheeks, nor compel her tongue to utterance. And he let her swallow some tea before he repeated his question.
“I suppose there is no need, miss, to tell you what has happened?”
“I do not know”—she murmured—“to what you refer. You must speak more plainly.”
“It’s a serious matter,” he said. He appeared to be looking into his hat, but he was really watching her over its edge, “A serious matter, miss, and I hope you’ll take it as it should be taken. For if it goes beyond a point the Lord only can stop it. So if you know, miss, and have no need to be told, it’s best for you to be frank. We know a good deal.”
The warm tea had given her command of herself.
“If you mean,” she said, “that I was out last night, I was.”
“We know that, of course.”
“You have my shoes,” with a little shrug of contempt.
“Yes, miss, and your footprints!” he answered. “The point on which we want information—and the sooner we have it the better—is, where did you leave him?”
“Where did I leave—whom?” sharply.