“A lady?” Melchett was surprised. “Who was she?”
The butler couldn’t remember her name. It was a lady he had not seen before. Yes, she had given her name, and when he told her that the family were at dinner, she had said that she would wait. So he had shown her into the little morning room.
She had asked for Colonel Protheroe, not Mrs. Protheroe. He had told the colonel and the colonel had gone to the morning room directly dinner was over.
How long had the lady stayed? He thought about half an hour. The colonel himself had let her out. Ah! Yes, he remembered her name now. The lady had been a Mrs. Lestrange.
This was a surprise.
“Curious,” said Melchett. “Really very curious.”
But we pursued the matter no further, for at that moment a message came that Mrs. Protheroe would see us.
Anne was in bed. Her face was pale and her eyes very bright. There was a look on her face that puzzled me—a kind of grim determination.
She spoke to me.
“Thank you for coming so promptly,” she said. “I see you’ve understood what I meant by bringing anyone you liked with you.”
She paused.
“It’s best to get it over quickly, isn’t it?” she said. She gave a queer, half-pathetic little smile. “I suppose you’re the person I ought to say it to, Colonel Melchett. You see, it was I who killed my husband.”
Colonel Melchett said gently: