“I see. And there you spent the time from soon after eleven to nearly midnight with the co-respondent?”
“Yes.”
“And you think there was no harm in that?”
“No harm, but I think it was extremely foolish.”
“You mean that you would not have done so if you had known you were being watched?”
“We certainly shouldn’t.”
“What made you take these particular rooms?”
“Their cheapness.”
“Very inconvenient, wasn’t it, having no bedroom, and nowhere for a servant, and no porter?”
“Those are luxuries for which one has to pay.”
“Do you say that you did not take these particular rooms because there was no one of any kind on the premises?”
“I do. I have only just enough money to live on.”
“No thought of the co-respondent, when you took them?”
“None.”
“Not even just a sidelong thought of him?”
“My Lord, I have answered.”
“I think she has, Mr. Brough.”
“After this you saw the co-respondent constantly?”
“No. Occasionally. He was living in the country.”
“I see, and came up to see you?”
“He always saw me when he did come up, perhaps twice a week.”
“And when you saw him what did you do?”
“Went to a picture gallery or a film; once to a theatre, I think. We used to dine together.”
“Did you know you were being watched?”
“No.”
“Did he come to your rooms?”
“Not again till February the third.”
“Yes, that is the day I am coming to.”
“I thought so.”
“You thought so. It is a day and night indelibly fixed in your mind?”
“I remember it very well.”
“My friend has taken you at length through the events of that day, and except for the hours at Oxford, it seems to have been spent almost entirely in the car. Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“And this car was a two-seater, with what, my Lord, is called a ‘dicky.’”
The Judge stirred.
“I have never been in a ‘dicky,’ Mr. Brough, but I know what they are.”
“Was it a roomy, comfortable little car?”
“Quite.”
“Closed, I think?”
“Yes. It didn’t open.”
“Mr. Croom drove and you were seated beside him?”
“Yes.”
“Now when you were driving back from Oxford you have said that this car’s lights went out about half-past ten, four miles or so short of Henley, in a wood?”
“Yes.”
“Was that an accident?”
“Of course.”
“Did you examine the battery?”
“No.”
“Did you know when or how it was last charged?”
“No.”
“Did you see it when it was recharged?”
“No.”
“Then why—of course?”
“If you are suggesting that Mr. Croom tampered with the battery—”
“Just answer my question, please.”
“I AM answering. Mr. Croom is incapable of any such dirty trick.”
“It was a dark night?”
“Very.”
“And a large wood?”
“Yes.”
“Just the spot one would choose on the whole of that journey from Oxford to London?”
“Choose?”
“If one had designed to spend the night in the car.”
“Yes, but the suggestion is monstrous.”
“Never mind that, Lady Corven. You regarded it as a pure coincidence?”
“Of course.”
“Just tell us what Mr. Croom said when the lights went out.”
“I think he said: ‘Hallo! My lights are gone!’ And he got out and examined the battery.”
“Had he a torch?”
“No.”
“And it was pitch dark. I wonder how he did it. Didn’t you wonder too?”
“No. He used a match.”
“And what WAS wrong?”
“I think he said a wire must have gone.”
“Then—you have told us that he tried to drive on, and twice got off the road. It must have been VERY dark?”
“It was, fearfully.”
“I think you said it was YOUR suggestion that you should spend the night in the car?”
“I did.”
“After Mr. Croom had proposed one or two alternatives?”
“Yes; he proposed that we should walk into Henley, and that he should come back to the car with a torch.”
“Did he seem keen on that?”
“Keen? Not particularly.”
“Didn’t press it?”
“N—no.”
“Do you think he ever meant it?”
“Of course I do.”
“In fact, you have the utmost confidence in Mr. Croom?”
“The utmost.”
“Quite! You have heard of the expression ‘palming the cards’?”
“Yes.”
“You know what it means?”
“It means forcing a person to take a card that you wish him to take.”
“Precisely.”
“If you are suggesting that Mr. Croom was trying to force me to propose that we should spend the night in the car, you are wholly wrong; and it’s a base suggestion.”
“What made you think I was going to make that suggestion, Lady Corven? Had the idea been present to your mind?”
“No. When I suggested that we should spend the night in the car, Mr. Croom was taken aback.”
“Oh! How did he show that?”
“He asked me if I could trust him. I had to tell him not to be old-fashioned. Of course, I could trust him.”
“Trust him to act exactly as you wished?”
“Trust him not to make love to me. I was trusting him every time I saw him.”
“You had not spent a night with him before?”
“Of course I had not.”
“You use the expression ‘of course’ rather freely, and it seems to me with very little reason. You had plenty of opportunities of passing a night with him, hadn’t you—on the ship, and in your rooms where there was nobody but yourself?”
“Plenty, and I did not avail myself of them.”
“So you say; and if you did not, doesn’t it seem to you rather singular that you suggested it on this occasion?”
“No. I thought it would be rather fun.”
“Rather fun? Yet you knew this young man was passionately in love with you?”
“I regretted it afterwards. It wasn’t fair to him.”
“Really, Lady Corven, do you ask us to believe that you, a married woman of experience, didn’t realise the ordeal by fire through which you were putting him?”
“I did afterwards, and I was extremely sorry.”
“Oh, afterwards! I am speaking of before.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t before.”
“You are on your oath. Do you persist in swearing that nothing took place between you in or out of the car on the night of February the third in that dark wood?”
“I do.”
“You heard the enquiry agent’s evidence that, when about two in the morning he stole up to the car and looked into it, he saw by the light of his torch that you were both asleep and that your head was on the co-respondent’s shoulder?”
“Yes, I heard that.”
“Is it true?”
“If I was asleep how can I say, but I think it’s quite likely. I had put my head there early on.”
“Oh! You admit that?”
“Certainly. It was more comfortable. I had asked him if he minded.”
“And, of course, he didn’t?”
“I thought you didn’t like the expression ‘of course,’ but anyway he said he didn’t.”
“He had marvellous control, hadn’t he, this young man, who was in love with you?”
“Yes, I’ve thought since that he had.”
“You knew then that he must have, if your story is true. But is it true, Lady Corven; isn’t it entirely fantastic?”
Dinny saw her sister’s hands clenching on the rail, and a flood of crimson coming up into her cheeks and ebbing again before she answered:
“It may be fantastic, but it’s entirely true. Everything I’ve said in this box is true.”
“And then in the morning you woke up as if nothing had happened, and said: ‘Now we can go home and have breakfast!’ And you went? To your rooms?”
“Yes.”
“How long did he stay on that occasion?”
“About half an hour or a little more.”
“The same perfect innocence in your relations?”
“The same.”
“And the day after that you were served with this petition?”
“Yes.”
“Did it surprise you?”
“Yes.”
“Conscious of perfect innocence, you were quite hurt in your feelings?”
“Not when I thought about things.”
“Oh, not when you thought about things? What exactly do you mean by that?”
“I remembered that my husband had said I must look out for myself; and I realised how silly I was not to know that I was being watched.”