Davis was not quite sure that Iris would not break faith with anybody if it suited her purpose. But clearly Hugh Murchison had subjugated her to the extent of respecting an honourable bargain. No doubt she had fallen in love with him, so far as a person of her shallow temperament could fall in love. "And what has become of Roddie?" "I don't know, and I don't care. He has bored me to extinction for over nine months. I am glad to be shut of him." Davis put a question. "You say Hugh Murchison paid you in notes. What have you done with them? His bank will have the numbers." "Will they?" cried Iris, the frightened look again coming into her eyes; she knew nothing of business methods. "I paid them into my own account. Now, you see, if you rake this up I might be implicated." "Your opinion is, then, that the man found in Number 10 Cathcart Square was Hugh Murchison?" "I am as nearly sure as I can be, after reading the caretaker's evidence. He had some other stunt on beside my own. I was not the only visitor he received." Davis thought deeply before he spoke. "If I have him dug up, and he is identified by those who know him, a lot will come to light. Your notes will be traced, for one thing." "I am afraid of everything, Reggie. For the love of Heaven, let him rest where he is." Caroline Masters breathed softly to herself. "You were half in love with him, or perhaps three-quarters, and you don't want to know the real truth. Oh, you miserable little, paltry soul!" And then a sudden thought came to Davis. "Now, Iris, you could never think very clearly about things when they got a little bit complicated. You are quite sure the last occasion on which you saw him was a few days before the discovery of the body?" "I will swear to it," cried Iris firmly. "The date of his cheque, which the Bank has, will show that. He probably cashed it himself on the day he paid you, any way the day before. Now, on the day preceding and the day following that tragedy, can you prove where you were?" Iris began to see light. "Of course I can. The day after I had the notes, I got up a sprained ankle, an obliging doctor, an old (or rather young) friend of mine, sent a certificate to the theatre. I motored down to Brighton with Johnny Lascelles--who, by the way, used to make Roddie fearfully jealous. We joined a jolly little party at `The Old Ship.' I came back the day after the discovery in Cathcart Square." Davis rose and gave a great shout: "You have witnesses who can swear to that?" "Of course," answered Iris, not even yet comprehending the full drift of the question. "Johnny Lascelles motored me there and drove me back. Then there was Cissy Monteith, Katie Havard, Jack Legard and others who were with me all the time." "You silly little idiot," cried Reginald Davis. "And what the deuce do you mean by saying that you might be implicated?"