The truth came out now.  Stella Croyle had given the letter to Jenny, and Jenny herself had taken it to the garage and sent the chauffeur off upon his journey.  She had no idea of what the letter contained.  Stella was in the habit of inhaling chloroform; she carried a bottle of it in her dressing-case—­a bottle which Jenny had taken secretly from the room and smashed into atoms after Doctor McKerrel’s departure.  She had already conceived her plan to involve Joan in so much suspicion that she must needs openly confess that she had returned from Harrel to meet Mario Escobar in the empty house.

“Mario Escobar!” Millie Splay exclaimed.  “It was he.”  She turned pale.  Sir Charles Hardiman had spoken frankly to her of Escobar.  A creature of the shadows—­it was rumored that he lived on the blackmailing of women.  Joan was not out of the wood then!  Martin Hillyard was quick to appease her fears.

“He will not trouble you,” and when Jenny had gone from the room he added, “Mario Escobar was arrested this morning.  He will be interned till the end of the war and deported afterwards.”

Lady Splay rose, her face bright with relief.

“Thank you,” she said warmly to Hillyard.  “I am going up to Joan.”  At the door she stopped to add, “Now that it’s over, I don’t mind telling you that I admire Jenny Prask.  Out-and-out loyalty like hers is not so common that we can think lightly of it.”

Martin Hillyard turned to Sir Chichester.

“And now, if you will allow me, I will open my box of cigarettes.”

Harry Luttrell went back to his depot the next morning, without seeing Joan again.  Millicent Splay wrote to him during the next week.  The inquest had been confined within its proper limits.  Jenny Prask had spoken the truth in the witness box, and from beginning to end there had been no mention of Joan or Mario Escobar.  A verdict of temporary insanity had been returned, and Stella now lay in the village churchyard.  Harry Luttrell drew a breath of relief and turned to his work.  For six weeks his days and nights were full; and then came twenty-four hours’ leave and a swift journey into Sussex.  He arrived at Rackham Park in the dusk of the evening.  By a good chance he found Joan with Millie Splay and Sir Chichester alone.

Sir Chichester welcomed him with cordiality.

“My dear fellow, I am delighted to see you.  You will stay the night, of course.”

“No,” Harry answered.  “I must get back to London this evening.”

He took a cup of tea, and Sir Chichester, obtuse to the warning glances of his wife, plunged into an account of the events which had followed his departure.

“I drew out a statement.  Nothing could have been more concise, the coroner said.  What’s the matter, Millie?  Why don’t you leave me alone?  Oh—­ah—­yes,” and he hummed a little and spluttered a little, and then with an air of the subtlest craft he remarked, “There are those plans for the new pig-sties, Millie, which I am anxious to show you.”