"Specifically, did Colonel Ostrander and Mr. Pfyfe know it?"
"Yes."
Vance thought a moment.
"How did you happen to go to tea at Mr. Benson's home the day of the murder, if you were to dine with him that night?"
A flush stained her cheeks.
"There was nothing wrong in that," she declared. "Somehow, after I had left Mr. Benson's office, I revolted against my decision to dine with him, and I went to his house—I had gone back to the office first, but he had left—to make a final appeal, and to beg him to release me from my promise. But he laughed the matter off, and after insisting that I have tea, sent me home in a taxicab to dress for dinner. He called for me about half past seven."
"And when you pleaded with him to release you from your promise you sought to frighten him by recalling Captain Leacock's threat; and he said it was only a bluff."
Again the woman's astonishment was manifest.
"Yes," she murmured.
Vance gave her a soothing smile.
"Colonel Ostrander told me he saw you and Mr. Benson at the Marseilles."
"Yes; and I was terribly ashamed. He knew what Mr. Benson was, and had warned me against him only a few days before."
"I was under the impression the Colonel and Mr. Benson were good friends."
"They were—up to a week ago. But the Colonel lost more money than I did in a stock pool which
