Part 27 (2/2)

”Neither is there any proof that he died from natural causes,” I argued.

Then I added, ”Was it not strange, Aline, that you should actually have told me of my friend's death on the very morning that he died?”

”It was certainly a very remarkable coincidence,” she faltered; after a pause adding: ”If he has been murdered, as you suspect, I hope the police will not fail to discover the author of the crime.”

”But you declared that Roddy was already dead!” I cried, dumbfounded.

”Certainly!” she answered. ”I still maintain the truth of my statement.”

”Then you do not believe he was murdered?”

She shrugged her shoulders without replying.

For an instant I gazed into those eyes which had once held me spell-bound, and said--

”The truth is already known to the police. Roddy Morgan was murdered by a woman, swiftly, silently, and in a manner which showed firm determination and devilish cunning. You may rest a.s.sured that she will not escape.”

She started. Her face was blanched to the lips, and she sat before me rigid, open-mouthed, speechless.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

ROCKS AMONG PEBBLES.

Her att.i.tude convinced me of her guilt, yet what conclusive proof had I?

None--absolutely none.

”Your photograph was found in his rooms. I found it myself,” I said.

”Does that prove that I am untruthful?” she inquired, raising her eyebrows quickly.

I recollected the glove-b.u.t.ton. But the gloves she wore were new ones, and all the b.u.t.tons were intact.

There was a ring of truth in her denials, yet I was unconvinced. I saw in her answers careful evasion of my questions. First, I myself had found poor Roddy dead, and that he had committed suicide six months before seemed to me but a silly tale. Secondly, her strange actions were suspicious. Thirdly, her curious a.s.sociation with Muriel seemed coupled with the latter's disappearance, and her clandestine visit to Jack Yelverton intensified the mystery in its every detail.

”Of course, the mere finding of a photograph is no proof that you had met Roddy for six months,” I admitted, recollecting Ash's statement that he had never seen her visit his master.

”Then why suspect me?” she asked, in a tone of reproach.

”I have expressed no suspicion,” I said, as calmly as I could. ”My surprise and doubt are surely pardonable under these curious circ.u.mstances--are they not?”

”Certainly!” she responded. ”Nevertheless during our acquaintance I have, you must admit, been as open with you as I have dared. You professed your love for me,” she went on ruthlessly, ”but I urged you to hesitate. Was I not frank with you when I told you plainly that we could never be lovers?”

I nodded in the affirmative, and sighed when I recollected my lost Muriel.

”Then why do you charge me with deception?” she asked, stretching out her tiny foot neat in its suede shoe, and contemplating it. She seemed nervous and hasty, yet determined to get to the bottom of my suspicions and so ascertain the depth of my knowledge of the truth.

Detecting this, I resolved to act with discretion and diplomacy. Only by the exercise of consummate tact could I solve this enigma.

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