'In the past I've often sent him little notes to ask him to something or other, or to get me something when I knew he was going to Singapore.'
'This letter asks him to come and see you because Robert was going to Singapore.'
'That's impossible. I never did anything of the kind.'
'You'd better read it for yourself.'
He took it out of his pocket and handed it to her. She gave it a glance and with a smile of scorn handed it back to him.
'That's not my handwriting.'
'I know, it's said to be an exact copy of the original.'
She read the words now, and as she read a horrible change came over her. Her colourless face grew dreadful to look at. It turned green. The flesh seemed on a sudden to fall away and her skin was tightly stretched over the bones. Her lips receded, showing her teeth, so that she had the appearance of making a grimace. She stared at Mr Joyce with eyes that started from their sockets. He was looking now at a gibbering death's head.
'What does it mean?' she whispered.
Her mouth was so dry that she could utter no more than a hoarse sound. It was no longer a human voice.
'That is for you to say,' he answered.
'I didn't write it. I swear I didn't write it.'
'Be very careful what you say. If the original is in your handwriting it would be useless to deny it.'
'It would be a forgery.'
'It would be difficult to prove that. It would be easy to prove that it was genuine.'
A shiver passed through her lean body. But great beads of sweat stood on her forehead. She took a handkerchief from her bag and wiped the palms of her hands. She glanced at the letter again and gave Mr Joyce a sidelong look.
'It's not dated. If I had written it and forgotten all about it, it might have been written years ago. If you'll give me time, I'll try and remember the circumstances.'
'I noticed there was no date. If this letter were in the hands of the prosecution they would cross-examine the boys. They would soon find out whether someone took a letter to Hammond on the day of his death.'
Mrs Crosbie clasped her hands violently and swayed in her chair so that he thought she would faint.
'I swear to you that I didn't write that letter.'
Mr Joyce was silent for a little while. He took his eyes from her distraught face, and looked down on the floor. He was reflecting.
'In these circumstances we need not go into the matter further,' he said slowly, at last breaking the silence. 'If the possessor of this letter sees fit to place it in the hands of the prosecution you will be prepared.'
His words suggested that he had nothing more to say to her, but he made no movement of departure. He waited. To himself he seemed to wait a very long time. He did not look at Leslie, but he was conscious that she sat very still. She made no sound. At last it was he who spoke.
'If you have nothing more to say to me I think I'll be getting back to my office.'
'What would anyone who read the letter be inclined to think that it meant?' she asked then.
'He'd know that you had told a deliberate lie,' answered Mr Joyce sharply.
'When?'
'You have stated definitely that you had had no communication with Hammond for at least three months.'
'The whole thing has been a terrible shock to me. The events of that dreadful night have been a nightmare. It's not very strange if one detail has escaped my memory.'
'It would be unfortunate, when your memory has reproduced so exactly every particular of your interview with Hammond, that you should have forgotten so important a point as that he came to see you in the bungalow on the night of his death at your express desire.'
'I hadn't forgotten. After what happened I was afraid to mention it. I thought you'd none of you believe my story if I admitted that he'd come at my invitation. I dare say it was stupid of me; but I lost my head, and after I'd said once that I'd had no communication with Hammond I was obliged to stick to it.'
By now Leslie had recovered her admirable composure, and she met Mr Joyce's appraising glance with candour. Her gentleness was very disarming.
'You will be required to explain, then, why you asked Hammond to come and see you when Robert was away for the night.'
She turned her eyes full on the lawyer. He had been mistaken in thinking them insignificant, they were rather fine eyes, and unless he was mistaken they were bright now with tears. Her voice had a little break in it.
'It was a surprise I was preparing for Robert. His birthday is next month. I knew he wanted a new gun and you know I'm dreadfully stupid about sporting things. I wanted to talk to Geoff about it. I thought I'd get him to order it for me.'
'Perhaps the terms of the letter are not very clear to your recollection. Will you have another look at it?'
'No, I don't want to,' she said quickly.
'Does it seem to you the sort of letter a woman would write to a somewhat distant acquaintance because she wanted to consult him about buying a gun?'
'I dare say it's rather extravagant and emotional. I do express myself like that, you know. I'm quite prepared to admit it's very silly.' She smiled. 'And after all, Geoff Hammond wasn't quite a distant acquaintance. When he was ill I'd nursed him like a mother. I asked him to come when Robert was away, because Robert wouldn't have him in the house.'
Mr Joyce was tired of sitting so long in the same position. He rose and walked once or twice up and down the room, choosing the words he proposed to say; then he leaned over the back of the chair in which he had been sitting. He spoke slowly in a tone of deep gravity.
'Mrs Crosbie, I want to talk to you very, very seriously. This case was comparatively plain sailing. There was only one point which seemed to me to require explanation: as far as I could judge, you had fired no less than four shots into Hammond when he was lying on the ground. It was hard to accept the possibility that a delicate, frightened, and habitually self-controlled woman, of gentle nature and refined instincts, should have surrendered to an absolutely uncontrolled frenzy. But of course it was admissible. Although Geoffrey Hammond was much liked and on the whole thought highly of, I was prepared to prove that he was the sort of man who might be guilty of the crime which in justification of your act you accused him of. The fact, which was discovered after his death, that he had been living with a Chinese woman gave us something very definite to go upon. That robbed him of any sympathy which might have been felt for him. We made up our minds to make use of the odium which such a connexion cast upon him in the minds of all respectable people. I told your husband this morning that I was certain of an acquittal, and I wasn't just telling him that to give him heart. I do not believe the assessors would have left the court.'
They looked into one another's eyes. Mrs Crosbie was strangely still. She was like a little bird paralysed by the fascination of a snake. He went on in the same quiet tones.
'But this letter has thrown an entirely different complexion on the case. I am your legal adviser, I shall represent you in court. I take your story as you tell it me, and I shall conduct your defence according to its terms. It may be that I believe your statements, and it may be that I doubt them. The duty of counsel is to persuade the court that the evidence placed before it is not such as to justify it in bringing in a verdict of guilty, and any private opinion he may have of the guilt or innocence of his client is entirely beside the point.'
He was astonished to see in Leslie's eyes the flicker of a smile. Piqued, he went on somewhat dryly:
'You're not going to deny that Hammond came to your house at your urgent, and I may even say, hysterical invitation?'
Mrs Crosbie, hesitating for an instant, seemed to consider.
'They can prove that the letter was taken to his bungalow by one of the house-boys. He rode over on his bicycle.'
'You mustn't expect other people to be stupider than you. The letter will put them on the track of suspicions which have entered nobody's head. I will not tell you what I personally thought when I saw the copy. I do not wish you to tell me anything but what is needed to save your neck.'