“Good. In the first place, then, where were you going when I came here?” “To meet my boy at Vauxhall Station.” “What is his name?” “I’m not going to tell you. What’s he done?” “He has done murder. What is his name?” “My God!” whispered the girl, and her face blanched swiftly. “Murder! I--I can’t tell you his name--” “You mean you won’t?” She did not answer. “He is a very dark man,” continued Harley “with black eyes. He is a Hindu.” The girl stared straight before her, dumbly. “Answer me!” shouted Harley. “Yes--yes! He is a foreigner.” “A Hindu?” “I think so.” “He was here five minutes ago?” “Yes.” “Where was he going to take you?” “I don’t know. He said he could put me in a good job out of London. We had only ten minutes to catch the train. He’s gone to get the tickets.” “Where did you meet him?” “In the Green Park.” “When?” “About a month ago.” “Was he going to marry you?” “Yes.” “What did you do to the serviettes on the night Sir Charles died?” “Oh, my God! I didn’t do anything to hurt him--I didn’t do anything to hurt him!” “Answer me.” “Sidney--” “Oh, he called himself Sidney, did he? It isn’t his name. But go on.” “He asked me to get one of the serviettes, with the ring, and to lend it to him.” “You did this?” “Yes. But he brought it back.” “When?” “The afternoon--” “Before Sir Charles’s death? Yes. Go on. What did he tell you to do with this serviette?” “It--was in a box. He said I was not to open the box until I put the serviette on the table, and that it had to be put by Sir Charles’s plate. It had to be put there just before the meal began.” “What else?” “I had to burn the box.” “Well?” “That night I couldn’t see how it was to be done. Benson had laid the dinner table and Mrs. Howett was pottering about. Then, when I thought I had my chance, Sir Charles sat down in the dining room and began to read. He was still there and I had the box hidden in the hall stand, all ready, when Sidney--rang up.” “Rang you up?” “Yes. We had arranged it. He said he was my brother. I had to tell him I couldn’t do it.” “Yes!” “He said: ‘You must.’ I told him Sir Charles was in the dining room, and he said: ‘I’ll get him away. Directly he goes, don’t fail to do what I told you.’” “And then?” “Another ‘phone call came--for Sir Charles. I knew who it was, because I had told Sidney about the case Sir Charles was attending in the square. When Sir Charles went out I changed the serviettes. Mrs. Howett found me in the dining room and played hell. But afterward I managed to burn the box in the kitchen. That’s all I know. What harm was there?” “Harm enough!” said Harley, grimly. “And now--what was it that ‘Sidney’ stole from Sir Charles’s bureau in the study?” The girl started and bit her lip convulsively. “It wasn’t stealing,” she muttered. “It wasn’t worth anything.” “Answer me. What did he take?” “He took nothing.” “For the last time: answer.” “It wasn’t Sidney who took it. I took it.” “You took what?”