She gave a scornful laugh. "You don't think she had anything to do with it!"
"Perhaps I don't. But I may think that she knows much more than she has told me. You wish me to be frank, so I will tell you that Mrs. North's evidence does not tally with those facts which I know to be true."
Helen came forward, throwing up a hand to silence her sister. "Yes, you told me that the last time you were here. I agree with what Miss Drew says; it is time to be frank, Superintendent. You believe that the man I saw was my husband, and that I recognised him. Is not that so?"
"Let us say, Mrs. North, that I consider it a possibility."
"And I tell you that it is not so!"
"That is what I propose to find out," said Hannasyde. "You yourself have given me two separate accounts of your movements on the night of the 17th. The first was before your husband arrived here on the morning after the murder; the second, which was apparently designed to convince me, first, that the mysterious man seen by you was shown off the premises by Fletcher himself; and, second, that Fletcher was alive at 10.00 p.m., you told me after the arrival of your husband. You will admit that this gives me food for very serious thought. Added to this, I have discovered that Mr. North left his flat at 9.00 p.m. on the evening of the 17th, and only returned to it at 11.45."
Helen was white under her delicate make-up, but she said perfectly calmly: "I appreciate your position, Superintendent. But you are wrong in assuming that my husband was implicated in the murder. If you have proof that he was not in the flat on the evening of the 17th, no doubt you are right. I know nothing of that. What I do know is that he had no hand in the murder of Ernie Fletcher."
"Yes, Mrs. North? Shall we wait to hear what he himself may have to say about that?"
"It would be useless. As far as I know, he was nowhere near Greystones on the night of the 17th. It is quite possible that he may try to convince you that he was, for - for he is the sort of man, Superintendent, who would protect his wife, no matter how - how bad a wife she had been to him."
Her voice quivered a little, but her face was rigid. Sally caught her breath on a lungful of smoke, and broke into helpless coughing. Hannasyde said quite gently: "Yes, Mrs. North?"
"Yes." Helen's eyes stared into his. "You see, I did it."
Hannasyde said nothing. Glass, who had been watching Helen, said deeply: "It is written, speak ye every man the truth to his neighbour. Surely the net is spread in vain in the sight of any bird!"
"Not this bird!" choked Sally. "Helen, don't be a fool! Don't lose your head!"
A faint smile just curved Helen's lips. She said, still with her gaze fixed on Hannasyde's face: "My evidence was true as far as it went. Ernie Fletcher did show the stranger off the premises, and I did return to the study to search for my IOUs. What was untrue was my story that I got out of the room before he returned to it. I didn't. He found me there. He sat down at his desk. He laughed at me. Taunted me. I saw it was no use trying to plead with him. I - I suppose I must have been mad. I killed him."
Sally, who had by this time recovered from her coughing fit, said witheringly: "With your little hatchet. Don't you realise that this isn't a gun-pulling affair, you cuckoo? Whoever killed Ernie did it by violence. If you'd tried to bat him on the head I don't say you wouldn't have hurt him, but you haven't the necessary strength to smash his skull."
"I caught him unawares. I think I must have stunned him. At that moment, I was so - so angry I wanted to kill him. I hit him again and again…' Her voice failed; a shudder shook her, and she raised her handkerchief to her lips.
"A highly unconvincing narrative," said Sally. "You know, if you make up much more of this gruesome story you'll be sick. I can just see you beating someone's head in!"
"Oh don't, don't!" whispered Helen. "I tell you I wasn't myself!"
"Mrs. North," interposed Hannasyde, "I think I ought to inform you that it is not enough merely to say that you murdered a man. You must prove that you did so, if you wish me to believe you."
"Isn't that for you to do?" she said. "Why should I convict myself?"
"Don't be silly!" said Sally. "You've confessed to a murder, so presumably you want to be convicted. All right, let's hear some more! How did you do it? Why weren't there any bloodstains on your frock? I should have thought you must have been splashed with blood."
Helen turned a ghastly colour and groped her way to a chair. "For God's sake, be quiet! I can't stand this!"
Glass, standing by the wall like a statue of disapproval, suddenly exclaimed: "Woman, thou shalt not raise a false report!"
"Be quiet!" snapped Hannasyde.
The Constable's glacial blue eyes seemed to scorn him, and turned towards Helen, who had raised her head, and was staring at him in fright and doubt. He said to her in a milder tone: "Deceit is in the heart of them that imagine evil. The fear of man bringeth a snare: but whoso putteth his trust in the Lord shall be safe."
Hannasyde said angrily: "Another word from you, and -'
"Hold on!" interrupted Sally. "He has my vote. What he says is absolutely right."
"That is as may be," responded Hannasyde. "But he will nevertheless hold his tongue! Mrs. North, if you killed Ernest Fletcher, perhapss you will tell me what was the implement you used, and what you did with it?"
There was a brief silence. Helen's eyes travelled from one sceptical face to another. An interruption occurred, in the shape of Mr. Neville Fletcher who at that moment appeared at the open window, a cup and saucer in one hand, and a slice of toast in the other. "Don't mind me," he said, with his sweet smile. "I heard your last pregnant words, Superintendent, and I'm all agog to hear the answer. Why, there's Malachi!" He waved the piece of toast to the unresponsive Constable, and seated himself on the low window-sill. "Do go on!" he said invitingly to Helen.
Hannasyde looked consideringly at him for an instant, and then turned back to Helen. "Yes, go on, Mrs. North. What was the implement, and what did you do with it?"
"I'll tell you," Helen said breathlessly. "You've seen the - the implement. A heavy bronze paper-weight surmounted by a statuette. It was on Mr. Fletcher's desk. I caught it up, and struck him with it, several times. Then I escaped by way of the front door, as I told you. I hid the paper-weight under my cloak. When I reached home I - washed it, and later, when - when Mr. Neville Fletcher visited me, I - I gave it to him, and he restored it, as you know!"
Her eyes were fixed imploringly on Neville, who was staring at her with his mouth open. He blinked, shut his mouth, swallowed, and said faintly: "Oh, give Malachi permission to speak! He'll say it all so much better than I can. Something about one's sins finding one out. Now I don't fancy this piece of toast any more. God give me strength!"
Sally found her tongue, "Helen! You can't do that! Good Lord, you're trying to make Neville an accessary after the fact! It's too thick!"
"Thank you, darling!" said Neville brokenly. "Take this cup and saucer away from me. My hand shakes like a reed. Women!"
"Well, Mr. Fletcher?" said Hannasyde. "What have you to say to Mrs. North's accusation?"
"Don't worry!" said Neville. "Chivalry has practically no appeal for me whatsoever. It's a wicked lie. I produced the paper-weight to create a little diversion. I suppose Miss Drew told her sister about it. That's all."
"Yes, I did," admitted Sally. "And I'm very sorry, Neville. I never dreamed Helen would use the story like this!"
"The ruthlessness of the so-called gentle sex!" he said. "But I can disprove it. The paper-weight was never on Ernie's desk. It came from the billiard-room. Ask any of the servants. You might even ask my aunt."
"It's true!" Helen said, in a strained, unnatural voice. "Neville had nothing to do with the murder, but he replaced the paper-weight for me. Neville, it isn't as though anyone suspects you of killing Ernie! Just -just to have put a paper-weight back isn't such an awful thing to admit to!"