"I'd seen her. She'd come up for a production of Othello. If I said I loved her from then onwards, I suppose you'd think it very highfalutin. It's true, though. And when Surbonadier began to tell me how friendly they were, I hated him. Then he said his uncle was going to give her leading parts and he began to tell me how he hated his uncle, and what a lot he knew about him. He told me how Saint was mixed up in the drug trade. He told me about his mistresses. Stephanie seemed so innocent, and when I thought of her in that galère it had a terrible effect on me. I was dreadfully young. Saint seemed like the embodiment of all evil. It was nightmarish. I don't understand psychology, and I expect the heroin had something to do with it. We were neither of us normal. Anyway, when Surbonadier told me, in a dopey sort of way, that he could, if he chose, deal his uncle a pretty shrewd blow, I encouraged him feverishly. He said that Saint was refusing to pay his bills, but that he knew too much and could make him. He then suggested writing that article, and I urged him to do it and egged him on. Then I suddenly remembered what I'd come for, and tried to tell him I wouldn't go to any more of his parties. He didn't seem to pay much attention. He was engrossed with the idea of the article. I left him and, from that time on, I had nothing to do with him. When the article came out I guessed who had done it, and once, when we met, he tried to pump me, I told him, shortly enough, that he'd nothing to fear from me and, until tonight, I've never spoken of it."

"What made you decide to tell me?" Nigel asked.

Gardener did not answer immediately. Then he said slowly: "I thought the police would start ferreting round in Surbonadier's past, and would find out I had known him."

"That's not it," said Nigel compassionately. "You thought they were—on another trail altogether. I'm right, aren't I? You realised that unless they knew Surbonadier had been blackmailing Saint, they might suspect someone else altogether. Isn't that it?"

"Then they are——?"

"I don't think so. Anyhow, this will clinch it. Surely she doesn't think you are guilty?"

"Each of us was afraid——And then this morning when she came in——My God, they couldn't suspect her."

"You needn't worry about that now, and as for you——"

"Yes—as for me?" Gardener looked at him. "Nigel," he said. "Do you mind telling me this? Do you in your heart of hearts hide a sort of doubt about me? Do you?"

"No. On my word of honour."

"Then, on my word of honour, I'm not guilty of Surbonadier's death and neither is she. There's something I can't tell you, but—we're not guilty."