“Decent fellow, Maminot,” the chief constable said.
They established themselves in the gunroom again and sent the butler for Mrs. Healy. She kept them waiting some time. She entered with a flood of conversation. She was so sorry; she had been with poor dear Ann; she hardly liked to leave her; they had a dreadful night, and then Mr. Maminot coming, the child was so agitated and excited. Now what did they want? She’d told the chief constable everything last night. It was really too terrible to go over it all again.
“You told me you didn’t see Mr. Burchard after he came in from shooting.” The chief constable glowered at her. “Was that true?”
Mrs. Healy’s ample form shook her black frock; under its layers of powder her handsome face flushed purple. She scolded him.
“That sort of thing won’t do you any good,” said the chief constable. “I have a statement from the valet Arnold. What do you say about it?”
Her dark eyes defied him with a hard, contemptuous stare. “Arnold?” she sneered. “The rascal who stole my jewels! I don’t know what he may say, and I don’t care.”
“He says Mr. Burchard and you had a liaison, and you both knew he knew it and had him put away in case he should tell of you to young Mrs. Burchard.”
She laughed. “Oh, he’s a blackmailer as well as a thief, is he?”
“Had he ever asked you for blackmail?”
“He would have been in prison for that too if he had. There’s no creature could blackmail me.” The bold ferocity of her face bore out the words.
“You say there was nothing wrong between you and Mr. Burchard?”
“I suppose you have to ask these insolent questions,” she sneered. “Of course there wasn’t. It’s an idiotic idea. Everyone knows I did everything to help on his marriage to Ann.” She glanced at Reggie. “Mr. Fortune can tell you that.”
“I thought so. Yes,” Reggie murmured. “What bothers the chief constable is that Arnold says you hurried off to Burchard because he was out of prison and he tried to see you in London.”
“What a fool of a liar!” she laughed. “I didn’t know he was out of prison. I don’t care where he is or what he does.”
“Well, well. That is that.” Reggie looked at the chief constable.
“Have you finished?” said Mrs. Healy with contempt.
“Not quite. No. You had this place a long time. You knew your way about it. Did you ever use the priest’s hole?”
“The priest’s hole?” She repeated the words. “What’s that mean? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No? Remember the story of the blushin’ bride of Letley?”
“Of course I do. Oliver Maminot told us when you went over the house.”
“That is so. Yes. Room where she died was your dressin’ - room - -”
“I never used it,” she said.
“Burchard did, though, and Burchard died there too. With the doors locked. That didn’t suggest anything to you?”
“Nothing in the world,” she cried. “What is all this about?”
“I wonder,” Reggie murmured. “Thank you. Nothing more now.”
She gave him a queer look; she laughed and went out.
“What on earth were you getting at, Mr. Fortune?” the chief constable exploded. Reggie told him what had been found behind the angel’s eye… .
“Good God Almighty!” the chief constable muttered. “That means he was murdered by this young wife.”
“Natural inference, yes.”
“It’s a facer. I can’t get my mind to it. She seems such a child: just wondering and dazed. When I talked to her I felt as if she might be my own daughter.”
