Katherine felt slightly uncomfortable. They were just finishing lunch, and she looked in turn at the three people sitting round the table. Lady Tamplin, full of practical schemes; Mr. Evans, beaming with naive appreciation, and Lenox with a queer crooked smile on her dark face.

“Marvellous luck,” murmured Chubby; “I wish I could have gone along with you⁠—and seen⁠—all the exhibits.” His tone was wistful and childlike.

Katherine said nothing. The police had laid no injunctions of secrecy upon her, and it was clearly impossible to suppress the bare facts or try to keep them from her hostess. But she did rather wish it had been possible to do so.

“Yes,” said Lady Tamplin, coming suddenly out of her reverie, “I do think something might be done. A little account, you know, cleverly written up. An eyewitness, a feminine touch: ‘How I chatted with the dead woman, little thinking⁠—’ that sort of thing, you know.”