“It’s a lie—­a mistake,” stuttered Mrs. Jasher, now at bay and looking dangerous.  Her society veneer was stripped off, and the adventuress pure and simple came to the surface.

Indignant at the way in which she had deceived everyone, and having much at stake, Random did not spare her.

“It is not a mistake,” he insisted; “neither is it a lie.  When I became aware that you must have written the letter, I drove at once to Jessum to see if you had gone to London, as you had posted it there.  I learned from the station master and from a porter that you went to town by the seven o’clock train and returned by the midnight.”

Mrs. Jasher leaped to her feet.

“They could not recognize me.  I wore—­” Then she stopped, confused at having so plainly betrayed herself.

“You wore a veil.  All the same, Mrs. Jasher, you are too well known hereabouts for anyone to fail to recognize you.  Besides, your remark just now proves that I am right.  You wrote this blackmailing letter, and I demand an explanation.”

“I have none to give,” muttered the woman fiercely, and fighting every inch.

“If you refuse to explain to me you shall to the police,” said Sir Frank, rising and making for the door.

Mrs. Jasher flung herself forward and clung to him.

“For God’s sake, don’t!”

“Then you will explain?  You will tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Who murdered Sidney Bolton.”

“I do not know.  I swear I do not know,” she cried feverishly.

“That is ridiculous,” said Random coldly.  “You say in this letter that you can hang me or save me.  As you know that I am innocent, you must be aware who is guilty.”

“It’s all bluff.  I know nothing,” said Mrs. Jasher, releasing his arm and throwing herself on the couch.  “I only wished to get money.”

“Five thousand pounds—­eh?  Rather a large order,” sneered Random, replacing the letter in his pocket.  “You would not ask that sum for nothing:  you must be aware of the truth.  I suspected many people, Mrs. Jasher, but never you.”

The woman rose and flung out her arms.

“No,” she said in a deep voice, and fighting like a rat in a corner.  “I tricked you all down here.  Sir Frank, I will tell you the truth.”

“About the murder?”

“I know nothing of that.  About myself.”

Random shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ll hear about yourself first,” he said.  “I can learn details concerning the murder later.  Go on.”

“I know nothing of the murder or of the theft of the emeralds—­”

“Yet you hid the mummy in this house, and afterwards placed it in your arbor to be found by the Professor, for some reason.”

“I know nothing about that either,” muttered Mrs. Jasher doggedly, and with very white lips.  “That letter you have traced to me is all bluff.”

“Then you admit having written it?”