“He demanded money, of course,” she went on after a minute in a calmer voice; “and I paid him every penny I could. You must understand that I was willing to face any sacrifice rather than that my husband should be told. The other night I had to tell him that I had no more money left. I lied when I told you what time I went into the library. He stopped me in the hall to tell me that he wanted to see me there at half-past twelve. That would be when everyone else was in bed, you see. Mr. Stanworth always preserved the greatest secrecy about these meetings.” “And you went at half-past twelve?” Roger prompted sympathetically. “Yes, taking my jewels with me. I told him that I had no more money. He wasn’t angry. He never was. Just cold and sneering and horrible. He said he’d take the jewels for that time, but I must bring him the money he wanted—two hundred and fifty pounds—in three months’ time.” “But how could you, if you hadn’t got it?” Mrs. Plant was silent. Then gazing unseeingly at the rose bed, as if living over again that tragic interview, she said in a curiously toneless voice, “He said that a pretty woman like me could always obtain money if it was necessary. He said he would introduce me to a man out of whom I—I could get it, if I played my cards properly. He said if I wasn’t ready with the two hundred and fifty pounds within three months he would tell my husband everything.” “My God!” said Roger softly, appalled. Mrs. Plant looked him suddenly straight in the face. “That will show you what sort of a man Mr. Stanworth was, if you didn’t know,” she said quietly. “I didn’t,” Roger answered. “This explains a good deal,” he added to himself. “And then, I suppose, Jefferson came in?” “Major Jefferson?” Mrs. Plant repeated, in unmistakable astonishment. “Yes. Wasn’t that when he came in?” Mrs. Plant stared at him in amazement. “But Major Jefferson never came in at all!” she exclaimed. “What ever makes you think that?” It was Roger’s turn to be astonished. “Do I understand you to say that Jefferson never came in at all while you were in the library with Stanworth?” he asked. “Good gracious, no,” Mrs. Plant replied emphatically. “I should hope not! Why ever should he?” “I—I don’t really know,” Roger said lamely. “I thought he did. I must have been mistaken.” In spite of the unexpectedness of her denial, he was convinced that Mrs. Plant was telling the truth; her surprise was far too genuine to have been assumed. “Well, what happened?” “Nothing. I—I implored him not to be so hard and to be content with what I had paid him and give me back the evidence he’d got, but——” “Where did he keep the evidence, by the way? In the safe?” “Yes. He always carried the safe about with him. It was supposed to be burglar-proof.” “Was it open while you were there?” “He opened it to put my jewels in before I went.” “And did he leave it open, or did he lock it up again?” “He locked it before I left the room.” “I see. When would that be?”