Anthony looked up at her, and looking, forgot the question. She stamped her foot. “Oh, you irritating man!” she cried, and shook him by the shoulder. “Tell me at once!” “It was—Digby-Coates,” said Anthony slowly, fearing the news might affect her deeply. She took that in silence. Whether astonishment or other emotions had affected her he could not at the moment discern. Her next words told him. “I suppose”—her tone was thoughtful—“that I ought to be surprised. And horrified. But somehow I’m not. I don’t mean, you know, that I ever suspected him or anything like that. But I’m just not awfully surprised, that’s all.” It dawned upon Anthony that if he were not to seem a boor he must make an effort at intelligence. He strove to quiet the exuberant agility his heart had exhibited since her hand had touched his shoulder. He did his best. “You didn’t like him, I gather,” he said. She shook her head. “No. Not that I really disliked him. I just wasn’t quite comfortable whenever he was with me. You know. I always had to be nice, of course. Before my husband died they were always together. You see, they had the same tastes. They were about the same age, too.” She relapsed into silence. “So they were much of an age, were they?” Anthony said to himself. “Now, that’s illuminating. Coates is over fifty.” He was about to speak aloud, but was forestalled. “What on earth must you think of me?” Lucia cried. “Here are you, that’ve done all these miracles for us, all tired and wet, and I’m sitting here as if this was afternoon tea at the Vicar’s.” She ran to the bell. “First, you must have a drink. Whisky? That’s the second time I’ve forgotten my hospitality when you’ve been here.” Anthony got his drink. When he had finished the second, “You,” she said, “must go back to your inn. And you’ll have to walk, poor thing. My little car’s been out of action for a fortnight and I’ve sent away the one we hired for to-day. But the walk may do you good. You’ll get warm.” Anthony set down his tumbler. “Exit Fairy Godmother.” The great eyes burned him with their reproach. “That’s not fair,” she said, and Anthony could have kicked himself. “You know it isn’t! What I want to do is to offer you a bed here. Well, there’s a bed, but nothing else. No razor. No pyjamas even. You’d be uncomfortable. And you’ve simply _got_ to take care of yourself to-night!” Anthony rose. “Forgive me. It seems my fate always to be rude to you. And you’re quite right.” He moved towards the door. She followed him. With his fingers on the handle, he paused. “Damn it!” he thought. “She’s hard enough to resist when one’s in full command of oneself. But now! Oh, Jupiter, aid me!” He prepared to make his adieux. She touched him on the arm. “One more question before you go.” She smiled at him, and Anthony caught his breath. “Was I—am I—oh! I mean, is my evidence part of your case? You know, about my being outside the window that night—what I saw——”