"Oh, not often! About once in six weeks, perhaps, or a little oftener."
"Lamont has said that Sorrell was secretive. Is that so?"
"No, not secretive. But he was jealous. I mean jealous of the things he liked. When he cared very much about a thing he would — hug it to himself, if you know what I mean."
"Did the arrival of the letters make any difference to him — make him pleased or otherwise?"
"No; he didn't show any feeling that way. He was very quiet, you know."
"Tell me," said Grant, and produced the velvet case, "have you ever seen that before?" He snapped it open to her gaze.
"M. R.," she said slowly, just as Grant had done. "No; I never saw it before. What has that got to do with Bertie?"
"That was found in the pocket of a coat in Sorrell's trunk."
She put her worn hand out for it, looked at it with curiosity, and gave it back to him.
"Can you suggest any reason why Sorrell should commit suicide?"