“Yes, I’m afraid I was dreadfully wicked,” Laura said with engaging candour, and looked dreadfully innocent. “But I was at my wits’ end. Without a roof to cover me, a penny in my purse, a—oh, I said that before. By the way, I was wrong about the penny. I had a half-crown. I used it to pay for our coffees at the Piccadilly Palace. Anyhow, I was desperate. And I knew that I _must_ get my letters back, or—unutterable things would happen. Unutterable things,” she added, pleased with the phrase. “He had already offered them to me—at a price,” she added further in a low voice, modestly averting her head. It was a phrase which pleased her even more. “The abominable scoundrel!” exclaimed Mr. Priestley, positively puce about the gills. “I’m—yes, I’m glad I shot him. Thoroughly glad. I was glad when you told me he was a blackmailer. But now!” “He deserved it,” said Laura simply, “if ever a man did.” Once again there was a little pause while Laura congratulated herself with some heartiness. It was a good story, and it had gone down well. Besides, she pointed out to herself with conscious altruism, it would all tend to relieve Mr. Priestley’s mind. It is much less of a burden to have a death on one’s conscience for which one is extremely glad than one which calls for remorse and self-surrender. “This car,” said Mr. Priestley, not quite so happily. “You say they know you at that garage?” “Oh, yes; perfectly well.” “Know your name, and all about you?” “Yes. Why?” “Then,” said Mr. Priestley very solemnly, “my dear Miss Spettiman—er—Merrigrew—er——” “Won’t you call me Laura?” said his companion with timid deference, but not unhelpfully. “Thank you, my dear Laura. Yes. Then as I was saying, my dear Laura—er—Laura, this is very serious indeed. Don’t you see? They’ll know who took that car, and I am afraid your name is bound to crop up in connection with the crime. With the accident, I should say.” “But they won’t know it was taken down to Duffley.” “Won’t they?” said Mr. Priestley unhappily. “I’m afraid it may come out. I believe the police are very clever indeed at tracing things. Probably they are on the look out for its number already. We must leave nothing to chance. We must abandon it by the road-side.” “Oh!” said Laura, who did not at all wish to abandon by the road-side George’s perfectly good and very expensive car. They stared at each other. “This is very serious,” said Mr. Priestley again, and looked so concerned that Laura very nearly told him not to worry because there wasn’t a word of truth in her whole story. The number of times that Laura was brought to the brink of revelation, and the number of times she was jerked back from it just in time were becoming as the sands of the sea, countless. This time it was the landlady who assisted in the jerking process, choosing that moment to enter the room with an armful of newspapers.