"Come and forage, won't you?" she asked carelessly. "There are some
_pate_ sandwiches here, and you want whisky and soda, of course--or do
you prefer brandy?"

"Neither, thanks!" Wrayson answered firmly. "I want what I came for.
Please sit down here and answer my questions."

She laughed a little mockingly, and turning round, faced him, her head
thrown back, her eyes meeting his unflinchingly. The light from a
rose-shaded electric lamp glittered upon her hair. She was wearing black
again, and something in her appearance and attitude almost took his
breath away. It reminded him of the moment when he had seen her first.

"First," she said, "I am going to ask you a question. Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" he asked.

She gave vent to a little gesture of impatience. He must know quite well
what she meant.

"Why did you give evidence at the inquest and omit all mention of me?"

"I don't know," he answered bluntly.

"You have committed yourself to a story," she reminded him, "which is
certainly not altogether a truthful one. You have run a great risk,
apparently to shield me. Why?"

"I suppose because I am a fool," he answered bitterly.