She started very slightly, recovering herself at once. "Yes," she said in a whisper.
I lay back in my chair, rather enjoying myself, though I must confess I felt a bit of a brute. "Now we come to the interesting part of the story," I said. "This morning I learned from Seagrave that not only was the reference a forged one, but that somebody else had actually answered the telephone in Tregattock's absence. Sir Henry himself, apparently, knew nothing whatever about the matter."
She was silent for a moment, her brows slightly knitted and a puzzled expression in her eyes. "I don't understand," she said at last. "Why did you want a new butler? The other night—there was a man there—"
"Ah, yes," I interrupted; "the excellent Milford. But, you see, some of your friends had been kind enough to poison him."
"Poison him!" she echoed; and then, leaning forward, she stared at me in obviously genuine horror. "Do you mean that he is dead?"
"Oh dear, no," I said lightly. "We are rather a tough couple, Milford and I. Still, they did their best—and, after all, you can't throw stones you know! You missed me shockingly at five yards."
I am afraid the last little pleasantry was rather wasted. Mercia had momentarily covered her face with her hands, and when she took them down I saw that her beautiful eyes were alight with anger and indignation.
"But this is dreadful!" she broke out. "I did not know—I—I had heard something, but indeed I did not know. It—" She checked herself abruptly.
"It was the genial M. Guarez, no doubt," I said. "Just the kind of thing I should expect from a man with a name like that. I really didn't imagine that you had anything to do with it."
"What time," she asked, speaking rather more calmly, "did these people ring up the telephone?"