“Well, what I tell you is true.  There are no less than ten people, all living, I have no doubt, who can testify to its correctness.  I had a box at the Fancy Dress Ball that New Year’s Eve.  I invited nine guests.  One of them, an attache at the Italian Embassy, brought Giovanni and introduced him to me.  We were together from midnight until 4.30 a.m.  Whilst poor Alan was lying here dead, I was revelling at a bal masque.  Do you think I am likely to forget the circumstances?”

The icy tones thrilled with pitiful remembrance.  But the barrister’s task required the unsparing use of the probe.  He determined, once and for all, to end an unpleasant scene.

“Will you tell me why you and your husband have, shall we say, disagreed so soon after your marriage?  You were formed by Providence and nature to be mated.  What has driven you apart?”

The woman flushed scarlet under this direct inquiry.

“I cannot tell you,” she said brokenly, “but the cause—­in no way—­concerns—­either my brother’s death—­or David’s innocence.  It is personal—­between Giovanni and myself.  In God’s good time, it may be put right.”

Brett, singularly enough, was a man of quick impulse.  He was moved now by a profound pity for the woman who thus bared her heart to him.

“Thank you for your candour, Mrs. Capella,” he exclaimed, with a fervour that evidently touched her.  “May I ask one more question, and I have done with a most unpleasant ordeal.  Do you suspect any person of being your brother’s assassin?”

“No,” she said.  “Indeed I do not.”

CHAPTER VIII

REVELATIONS

Hume and Winter did not meet on terms that might be strictly described as cordial.

Brett, on quitting the Hall, had surrendered himself to a spell of vacant bewilderment.  He haled the unwilling Hume from Helen’s society, and picked up the detective at the Wheat Sheaf Inn.  Then the barrister, from sheer need of mental relief, determined to have some fun with them.

“You two ought to know each other,” he said good-humouredly.  “At one time you took keen interest in matters of mutual concern.  Allow me to introduce you.  Hume—­this is Mr. Winter, of Scotland Yard.”

David was quite unprepared for the meeting.

“What?” he exclaimed, his upper lip stiffening, “the man who concocted all sorts of imaginary evidence against me!”

“‘Concocted’ is not the right word, nor imaginary’ either,” growled Winter.

“Quite right,” said Brett.  “Really, Hume, you should be more careful in your choice of language.  Had Winter been as careless in his statements at the Assizes, he would certainly have hanged you.”

Hume was too happy, after a prolonged tete-a-tete with his beloved, to harbour malice against any person.

“What are we supposed to do—­shake hands?” he inquired blandly.