"Miss Rider," he said, "you suspect somebody of this crime. Won't you tell me?" She shook her head without looking up. "I can say nothing," she said. "But don't you see that suspicion will attach to you?" urged Tarling. "A telegram was discovered amongst his belongings, asking him to call at your flat that evening." She looked up quickly. "A telegram from me?" she said. "I sent no telegram." "Thank God for that!" cried Tarling fervently. "Thank God for that!" "But I don't understand, Mr. Tarling. A telegram was sent to Mr. Lyne asking him to come to my flat? Did he go to my flat?" Tarling nodded. "I have reason to believe he did," he said gravely. "The murder was committed in your flat." "My God!" she whispered. "You don't mean that! Oh, no, no, it is impossible!" Briefly he recited all his discoveries. He knew that he was acting in a manner which, from the point of view of police ethics, was wholly wrong and disloyal. He was placing her in possession of all the clues and giving her an opportunity to meet and refute the evidence which had been collected against her. He told her of the bloodstains on the floor, and described the night-dress which had been found around Thornton Lyne's body. "That was my night-dress," she said simply and without hesitation. "Go on, please, Mr. Tarling." He told her of the bloody thumb-prints upon the door of the bureau. "On your bed," he went on, "I found your dressing-case, half-packed." She swayed forward, and threw out her hands, groping blindly. "Oh, how wicked, how wicked!" she wailed "He did it, he did it!" "Who?" demanded Tarling. He took the girl by the shoulder and shook her. "Who was the man? You must tell me. Your own life depends upon it. Don't you see, Odette, I want to help you? I want to clear your name of this terrible charge. You suspect somebody. I must have his name." She shook her head and turned her pathetic face to his. "I can't tell you," she said in a low voice. "I can say no more. I knew nothing of the murder until you told me. I had no idea, no thought.... I hated Thornton Lyne, I hated him, but I would not have hurt him ... it is dreadful, dreadful!" Presently she grew calmer. "I must go to London at once," she said. "Will you please take me back?" She saw his embarrassment and was quick to understand its cause. "You--you have a warrant, haven't you?" He nodded. "On the charge of--murder?" He nodded again. She looked at him in silence for some moments. "I shall be ready in half an hour," she said, and without a word the detective left the room. He made his way back to the doctor's sanctum, and found that gentleman awaiting him impatiently. "I say," said the doctor, "that's all bunkum about this girl being wanted as a witness. I had my doubts and I looked up the Scotland Yard warning which I received a couple of days ago. She's Odette Rider, and she's wanted on a charge of murder."