Davis was not quite sure that Iris would not break faith with anybody if it suited her purpose. But clearly Hugh Murchison had subjugated her to the extent of respecting an honourable bargain. No doubt she had fallen in love with him, so far as a person of her shallow temperament could fall in love.
"And what has become of Roddie?"
"I don't know, and I don't care. He has bored me to extinction for over nine months. I am glad to be shut of him."
Davis put a question. "You say Hugh Murchison paid you in notes. What have you done with them? His bank will have the numbers."
"Will they?" cried Iris, the frightened look again coming into her eyes; she knew nothing of business methods. "I paid them into my own account. Now, you see, if you rake this up I might be implicated."
"Your opinion is, then, that the man found in No. 10 Cathcart Square was Hugh Murchison?"
"I am as nearly sure as I can be, after reading the caretaker's evidence. He had some other stunt on beside my own. I was not the only visitor he received."
Davis thought deeply before he spoke. "If I have him dug up, and he is identified by those who know him, a lot will come to light. Your notes will be traced, for one thing."
"I am afraid of everything, Reggie. For the love of Heaven, let him rest where he is." Caroline Masters breathed softly to herself. "You were half in love with him, or perhaps three-quarters, and you don't want to know the real truth. Oh, you miserable little, paltry soul!"
And then a sudden thought came to Davis. "Now, Iris, you could never think very clearly about things when they got a little bit complicated. You are quite sure the last occasion on which you saw him was a few days before the discovery of the body?"