“Will you ask Jenny to come here?”

“Now, my lady?”

“Now.”

Harper went out of the room and Millie turned again to her friends.

“Will you leave this to me?” she asked.

Sir Chichester was inclined to demur.  A few deft and pointed questions, very clear, such as might naturally occur to Hillyard or Luttrell, or Sir Chichester himself might come in usefully to put the polish, as it were, on Millie’s spade work.  Harry Luttrell smiled grimly.

“We didn’t exactly cover ourselves with glory this morning,” he said.  “I think that we had better leave it to Lady Splay.”

Sir Chichester reluctantly consented, and they all waited anxiously for Jenny’s appearance.  That she would fight to the last no one doubted.  Would she fight even to her own danger?

Jenny came into the room, quietly respectful, and without a trace of apprehension.

“You sent for me, my lady.”

“Yes, Jenny.”

Jenny closed the door and came forward to the table.

“Do you still persist in your story of this morning?” Lady Splay asked.

“Yes, my lady.”

“You did not see your mistress at all after Miss Whitworth had talked with her in the library?”

“No, my lady.”

“Jenny, I advise you to be quite sure before you speak.”

“I am not to be frightened, my lady,” said Jenny Prask, with a spot of bright colour showing suddenly in her cheeks.

“I am not trying to frighten you,” Millie Splay returned.  “But some unexpected news has reached us which, if you persist, will place you in an awkward position.”

Jenny Prask smiled.  She turned again to the door.

“Is that all, my lady?”

“You had better hear what the news is.”

“As you please, my lady.”

Jenny stopped and resumed her position.

“The announcement of Mrs. Croyle’s death appeared in the Harpoon this morning.  The news was left at the Harpoon office by a chauffeur with a private car at midnight—­Mrs. Croyle’s car.”

“It never left the garage last night,” said Jenny fiercely.

“You know that for certain?”

“I am engaged to the chauffeur,” she replied with a smile; and Millie Splay looked sharply up.

“Oh,” she murmured slowly, after a pause.  “Thank you, Jenny.  Yes, thank you.”

The quiet satisfaction of Millie Splay’s voice puzzled Jenny and troubled her security.  She watched Lady Splay warily.  From that moment her assurance faltered, and with the loss of her ease, she lost something, too, of her respectful manner.  A note of impertinence became audible.

“Very happy, I’m sure,” she said.

“The motor-car delivered the message at midnight,” Lady Splay resumed, “and—­this is what I ask your attention to, Jenny—­the editor, in order to obtain corroboration of the message before he inserted it in his paper, rang up Rackham Park.”