He peered down into her face and evidently thought he saw tears there, for he pressed a large white pocket-handkerchief into her hand without any explanation.
“Now,” he said, squatting down between them on the dusty boards, “tell him.”
Campion leant forward. “I’m awfully sorry to trouble you, Miss Marchant,” he said. “It must be most unpleasant for you to go all through this again. But you would be doing me and Mr. Barnabas a very great service if you’d answer one or two questions. I won’t keep you long.”
The girl made a rather pathetic attempt at a smile.
“I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m glad to get away from them all. What do you want to know?”
Mr. Campion approached his point gingerly. It was not going to be easy.
“When you went down to the strong room this morning,” he began, “did
