“Yes,” said Lady Splay.

“Whilst they were waiting for the news from France, which did not come, they rang you up from the Harpoon office.  Yes:  they rang up Rackham Park.”

Harry Luttrell snatched up the letter once more from the table.  Yes, there across the left-hand corner was printed Sir Chichester’s telephone number and the district exchange.

“They were answered by a woman.  Of that there’s no doubt.  And the woman assured them that Stella Croyle was dead.  This was at a quarter-past twelve.”

There was a movement of horror about the table, and then, with dry lips, Millie Splay whispered: 

“Stella!”

“Yes.  It must have been,” answered Hillyard.  “Oh, she had thought out her plan to its last detail.  She knew the letter might not be enough.  So, whilst we were all dancing at Harrel, she sat alone from ten to midnight in that library, waiting for the telephone to ring, hoping perhaps—­for all we know—­at the bottom of her heart that it would not ring.  But it did, and she answered.”

The picture rose vividly before them all.  Harrel, with its lighted ball-room and joyous dancers on the one side; the silent library on the other, with Stella herself in all her finery, sitting with her haggard eyes fixed upon the telephone, whilst the slow minutes passed.

“That’s terrible,” said Millie Splay in a low voice; and such a wave of pity swept over the four people that for a long while no further word was said.  Joan upstairs in her room was forgotten.  Any thought of resentment in that Stella had used Sir Chichester’s name was overlooked by the revelation of the long travail of her soul.

“I remember that she once said to me, ’Women do get the worst of it when they kick over the traces,’” Hillyard resumed.  “And undoubtedly they do.  On the other hand you have McKerrel’s hard-headed verdict, ’If these poor neurotic bodies had any work to do they wouldn’t have so much time to worry about their troubles.’  Who shall choose between them?  And what does it matter now?  Stella’s gone.  She will strain her poor little unhappy heart no more against the bars.”

CHAPTER XXXI

JENNY AND MILLIE SPLAY

After a time their thoughts reverted to the living.

“There’s Joan,” said Millie Splay.  “Jenny Prask hates her.  She means to drag her into some scandal.”

“If she can,” said Martin.  He went out into the hall and returned with the key of Stella Croyle’s room.  He held it up before them all.

“This key was found on the lawn outside the library window this morning by Luttrell.  Jenny has never referred to it since she ran downstairs this morning crying out that the key was not in the lock.  It was lying on the hall table all through the time when Sir Chichester was questioning her, and she said never a word about it.  She was much too clever.  But she saw it.  I was watching her when she did see it.  There was no concealing the swift look of satisfaction which flashed across her face.  I haven’t a doubt that she herself dropped the key where it was found.”