“It isn’t,” said Leslie. “But I might have found that out anyway. In fact, I should, if I’d had the sense to go straight to Doctor Wesley and ask him how long before Donald Dawlish’s death he was unconscious. I’ve always suspected that the alteration of that will was a forgery. I saw a copy of it, and I have compared it with the signature of Donald Dawlish. It would not have been very difficult to prove that the new will which gave Mrs. Dawlish the whole of her husband’s fortune and which disinherited Peter, was a forgery from beginning to end. The doctor will, of course, prove that beyond any question. On the day he was supposed to have made the new will, Mr. Dawlish did not recover consciousness. Surely, Princess, you don’t imagine that you will get away with that! Mr. Dawlish’s lawyers have always been dissatisfied with the will that was made without consultation, and which was only proved because they could not induce Peter Dawlish to contest its validity.” Anita Bellini made no answer to this. “I’m chiefly concerned with myself and my own safety,” she said at last. “You’ve got to help me, and Martha must look after herself. You’ve got to help clear me. I’m going to make you a very good offer--a hundred thousand pounds.” Leslie shook her head. “Not all the money in the world will influence me, Princess,” she said. “How could I clear you? You talk as though I were the chief of the Detective Bureau and had authority to divert the processes of the law! The person you must see is Lady Raytham, whom you have blackmailed for years, and even if she were agreeable, the law requires that you shall explain the death of Annie Druze.” “It was an accident.” Leslie nodded. “I know--or rather, I guessed. But that has got to come into the light, and it cannot come into the light unless the story of the blackmail is revealed. I am willing to do this: let me walk out of your door unharmed, and the little adventure of to-night will be forgotten. I will forget your Javanese, I will forget what happened last night. Tell me where I can find”--she paused--“Elizabeth Dawlish.” “There is no such person,” said Anita harshly. “Elizabeth Dawlish,” repeated Leslie, “Peter’s daughter.” Princess Anita Bellini was not smoking now. She had the holder in her hand, turning it over and over and examining it critically as though she were looking for some defect. “You’ve got to get me out of this mess, Leslie Maughan.” Leslie rose to her feet. “I thought you were clever!” she said, with a note of contempt in her voice. “Nothing can get you out--nothing!”