Drysdale had disappeared downstairs. He was alone with her, and he felt that to tell her another untruth would be the supreme insult. "All right, Miss Dinmont, I'll tell you the truth. I didn't want you to know the truth before because I thought it might save you from — from feeling sorry about things. But now it can't be helped. I came from London to arrest the man you had staying with you. He knew what I had come for when I came in at teatime, because he knows me by sight. But when he came with me as far as the torof the road he bolted. In the end he took to a boat, and it was in diving from the boat when we followed that he cut his head open."
"And what do you want him for?"
It was inevitable. "He killed a man in London."
"Murder!" The word was a statement, not a question. She seemed to understand that, if it had been otherwise, the inspector would have said manslaughter. "Then his name is not Lowe?"
"No; his name is Lamont — Gerald Lamont."
He was waiting for the inevitable feminine outburst of "I don't believe it! He wouldn't do such a thing!" but it did not come.
"Are you arresting him on suspicion, or did he do the thing?"
"I'm afraid there isn't any doubt about it," Grant said gently.
"But my aunt — is she — how did she come to send him here?"
"I expect Mrs. Everett was sorry for him. She'd known him some time."