“She wanted me to go to Wimbledon to stay there for a month, and I hate the place, I simply loathe it! I’m rather temperamental; I suppose all artists are--I mean artists and literary people. And May Towers gives me the horrors. And, of course, she was terribly rude to me, in spite of the fact that I am far from well and my leg aches excruciatingly. Anita is the most unreasonable person. You’ve no idea, Miss Maughan. Of course we quarrelled, and I simply told her that I’d have no more to do with her. And then she made a fearful scene because I asked old Doctor Wesley to come up and see me and tell me whether I was fit to be moved. She practically cursed me for calling him. Really, I thought she was going mad. And he’s such a dear old soul--awfully talkative, of course, but a perfect gentleman, and a kind man.” Leslie was sitting at the other side of the table, her hands folded patiently, waiting for the real story to come. Now she leaned forward, her eyes upon the woman’s face. “Doctor Wesley? Was he the Dawlishes’ doctor?” “A very charming old man but awfully fond of Mr. Dawlish. Except for six hours just before his death, he was with old Mr. Dawlish for a whole day and a night--never left his side.” Leslie hardly heard the next five minutes’ complaint, but when she came to bring her understanding to bear upon her hostess, Greta was not much nearer to the reason for her telephone message. “If anything comes out I can always say, and Anita must bear me out, that I never knew this wretched man was a woman. The first thing I saw was Anita and this man struggling, and I wanted to send for the police. And then those wretched men came in and tried to drag the pistol out of Druze’s hand--her hand, I mean. And there was I, lying on a sofa--fainted, my dear, and with simply not a notion in the world that I was wounded. It may sound strange to you, but it is true. When I woke up, Anita was going on like somebody who had lost her head. It was simply ghastly.” “Did you see Druze again?” Greta shook her head. “No--the language she used before the shooting started!” Greta shuddered. “I simply couldn’t repeat half the words she employed. Of course, Anita sent me out of the room; said she didn’t know I was there; but just as I started to go out, my dear--bang!” Mrs. Gurden grew dramatic and illustrative. “Bang! And then everything went dark. You know how it does, my dear.” “I can’t understand quite,” said Leslie. “A few hours after the shooting I found you at Lady Raytham’s.”