“Precisely.”
“What had you to talk about for so many hours with this young man who was privileged to kiss your cheek?”
“What has anyone to talk about at any time?”
“I am asking you that question.”
“We talked about everything and nothing.”
“A little more explicit, please.”
“Horses, films, my people, his people, theatres—I really don’t remember.”
“Carefully barring the subject of love?”
“Yes.”
“Strictly platonic from beginning to end?”
“I should say so.”
“Come, Lady Corven, do you mean to tell us that this young man, who on your own admission was in love with you, and who hadn’t seen you for nearly three weeks, never once during all those hours yielded to his feelings?”
“I think he told me he loved me once or twice; but he always stuck splendidly to his promise.”
“What promise?”
“Not to make love to me. To love a person is not a crime, it is only a misfortune.”
“You speak feelingly—from your own experience?”
Clare did not answer.
“Do you seriously tell us that you have not been and are not in love with this young man?”
“I am very fond of him, but not in your sense.”
In Dinny flamed up compassion for young Croom listening to all this. Her cheeks went hot, and she fixed her blue eyes on the Judge. He had just finished taking down Clare’s answer; and suddenly she saw him yawn. It was an old man’s yawn, and lasted so long that it seemed never going to end. It changed her mood, and filled her with a sort of pity. He, too, had to listen day after day to long-drawn-out attempts to hurt people, and make them stultify themselves.
“You have heard the enquiry agent’s evidence that there was a light in the upstairs room after you returned with the co-respondent from the restaurant. What do you say to that?”
“There would be. We sat there.”
“Why there, and not downstairs?”
“Because it’s much warmer and more comfortable.”
“That is your bedroom?”
“No, it’s a sitting-room. I have no bedroom. I just sleep on the sofa.”
“I see. And there you spent the time from soon after eleven to nearly midnight with the co-respondent?”
“Yes.”
“And you think there was no harm in that?”
“No harm, but I think it was extremely foolish.”
“You mean that you would not have done so if you had known you were being watched?”
“We certainly shouldn’t.”
“What made you take these particular rooms?”
“Their cheapness.”
“Very inconvenient, wasn’t it, having no bedroom, and nowhere for a servant, and no porter?”
“Those are luxuries for which one has to pay.”
“Do you say that you did not take these particular rooms because there was no one of any kind on the premises?”
“I do. I have only just enough money to live on.”
“No thought of the co-respondent, when you took them?”
“None.”
“Not even just a sidelong thought of him?”
“My Lord, I have answered.”
“I think she has, Mr. Brough.”
“After this you saw the co-respondent constantly?”
“No. Occasionally. He was living in the country.”
“I see, and came up to see you?”
“He always saw me when he did come up, perhaps twice a week.”
“And when you saw him what did you do?”
“Went to a picture gallery or a film; once to a theatre, I think. We used to dine together.”
“Did you know you were being watched?”
“No.”
“Did he come to your rooms?”
“Not again till February the third.”
“Yes, that is the day I am coming to.”
“I thought so.”
“You thought so. It is a day and night indelibly fixed in your mind?”
“I remember it very well.”
“My friend has taken you at length through the events of that day, and except for the hours at Oxford, it seems to have been spent almost entirely in the car. Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“And this car was a two-seater, with what, my Lord, is called a ‘dicky.’”
The Judge stirred.
“I have never been in a ‘dicky,’ Mr. Brough, but I know what they are.”
“Was it a roomy, comfortable little car?”
“Quite.”
“Closed, I think?”
“Yes. It didn’t open.”
“Mr. Croom drove and you were seated beside him?”
“Yes.”
“Now when you were driving back from Oxford you have said that this car’s lights went out about half-past ten, four miles or so short of Henley, in a wood?”
“Yes.”
“Was that an accident?”
“Of course.”
“Did you examine the battery?”
“No.”
“Did you know when or how it was last charged?”
“No.”
“Did you see it when it was recharged?”
“No.”
“Then why—of course?”
“If you are suggesting that Mr. Croom tampered with the battery—”
“Just answer my question, please.”
“I AM answering. Mr. Croom is incapable of any such dirty trick.”
“It was a dark night?”
“Very.”
“And a large wood?”
“Yes.”
“Just the spot one would choose on the whole of that journey from Oxford to London?”
“Choose?”
“If one had designed to spend the night in the car.”
“Yes, but the suggestion is monstrous.”
“Never mind that, Lady Corven. You regarded it as a pure coincidence?”
“Of course.”
“Just tell us what Mr. Croom said when the lights went out.”
“I think he said: ‘Hallo! My lights are gone!’ And he got out and examined the battery.”
“Had he a torch?”
“No.”
“And it was pitch dark. I wonder how he did it. Didn’t you wonder too?”
“No. He used a match.”
“And what WAS wrong?”
“I think he said a wire must have gone.”
“Then—you have told us that he tried to drive on, and twice got off the road. It must have been VERY dark?”
“It was, fearfully.”
“I think you said it was YOUR suggestion that you should spend the night in the car?”
“I did.”
“After Mr. Croom had proposed one or two alternatives?”
“Yes; he proposed that we should walk into Henley, and that he should come back to the car with a torch.”
“Did he seem keen on that?”
“Keen? Not particularly.”
“Didn’t press it?”
“N—no.”
“Do you think he ever meant it?”
“Of course I do.”
“In fact, you have the utmost confidence in Mr. Croom?”
“The utmost.”
“Quite! You have heard of the expression ‘palming the cards’?”
“Yes.”
“You know what it means?”
“It means forcing a person to take a card that you wish him to take.”
“Precisely.”
“If you are suggesting that Mr. Croom was trying to force me to propose that we should spend the night in the car, you are wholly wrong; and it’s a base suggestion.”
“What made you think I was going to make that suggestion, Lady Corven? Had the idea been present to your mind?”
“No. When I suggested that we should spend the night in the car, Mr. Croom was taken aback.”
“Oh! How did he show that?”
“He asked me if I could trust him. I had to tell him not to be old-fashioned. Of course, I could trust him.”
“Trust him to act exactly as you wished?”
“Trust him not to make love to me. I was trusting him every time I saw him.”
“You had not spent a night with him before?”
“Of course I had not.”
“You use the expression ‘of course’ rather freely, and it seems to me with very little reason. You had plenty of opportunities of passing a night with him, hadn’t you—on the ship, and in your rooms where there was nobody but yourself?”
“Plenty, and I did not avail myself of them.”
“So you say; and if you did not, doesn’t it seem to you rather singular that you suggested it on this occasion?”