Part 37 (1/2)
”But what connexion could Marigold or Logan have had with the affair?”
I asked. ”What is your theory? Why did they travel there in secret?
If Marigold was to be their victim, then I could understand it; but she was not.”
”It seems evident she was taken out to Milan by Logan in order to meet Marie in secret,” he said.
”But if the murder was not pre-arranged, why should they have taken possession of a dwelling that was not their own? That fact, in itself, shows that their object was a sinister one,” I argued.
”Stanchester believes that his wife has been at Bray with her sister Sibyl. He has no idea she's been abroad.”
”And Logan? What of him?”
”I know nothing,” he declared. ”He is probably still abroad. My own idea is that he crossed the Channel in order to meet Marigold and escort her to Italy.”
”Then the affair is as great a mystery as it ever was?” I remarked with dissatisfaction. I had risked my life and narrowly escaped being placed on trial for murder--all to no purpose.
”Greater,” he said. ”For my own part I cannot see what they've gained by sealing Marie's lips. I know,” he added, ”that Belotto made an attempt upon her during her stay at the farm in this vicinity, but they were prevented.”
”Who prevented them?” I inquired eagerly, as this was the first time he had admitted knowledge of their concealment at the farm to which Pink had been called on that fateful night.
”Well, as a matter of fact,” he answered, looking me straight in the face, ”I did.”
”You!” I cried.
”Yes,” he responded. ”Belotto, who was madly jealous of her, took her for a walk in the wood on purpose, I believe, to get rid of her.
Fortunately, however, I had suspicion of his intention, and followed him. Just as she was struck, I emerged and denounced him, but too late.
He then attacked me, but I defended myself. Then fearing the girl would die, the others did all they could to succour her, as they dreaded that by her death they would all be arrested for murder.”
”Then the reason they left Hayes's Farm so suddenly was because they were in fear of you?”
”Exactly. Marie Lejeune was equally afraid of me, and escaped with them--abroad, it seems.”
I related how the doctor, Pink, had been called to the girl, and of the investigations he and I made afterwards, whereupon he said, smiling--
”Yes, I know. I remained in the vicinity, and watched you both ride up to the house that afternoon.”
”And now you have told me so much, Mr Keene,” I said. ”Have you no theory regarding the murder of Hugh Wingfield?”
”Ah! That's quite another matter,” he said as a strange expression crossed his bearded features. ”That's a question which it is best for us not to discuss.”
”Why?”
”Because I can say nothing.”
”But you have a theory?”
”It may not be the right one,” he answered in a hard, strained voice.
”At least you know who the man was?” I said. ”You have already mentioned his name.”