“I can't imagine. I can't imagine!” She spoke as one who had tried hard enough, “but he's no murderer, far less a thief.”
Pointer was sorry for her, and stirred uneasily in his chair.
“You see, I knew him as a boy, and knew him as a young man. You can't make a mistake as to the very foundations of a character you've known so long and so intimately. Uncle Ian, too, loved him. He loved him better even than Rob, and Uncle Ian couldn't have cared for anyone who wasn't straight.” Again there was a silence between the two. Then she leant forward and laid a hand on Pointer's sleeve for a second.
“Do you think he's in danger, too, Mr. Pointer?” she whispered.
“Unless he speaks out, and can clear himself with a good alibi, I do, indeed. I'm speaking only of the murder charge—the other doesn't concern us over here. Now, Miss West, you think the charge against Carter is faked. That means he must have a bitter enemy. Robert Erskine was murdered, not by Carter, you say. He, too, had a bitter enemy. Could the same enmity link the two? Can they have a common enemy? Do you know of any event in their lives, common to both, which could have roused any such feeling on the part of anyone?”
She sank into deep thought and then slowly shook her head.
“Of course, one's first thought is that they were partners together, disappeared together, and were accused together of embezzlement. Could Mr. Heilbronner be in it for anything?” probed the police-officer.
“Mr. Heilbronner has been touring Europe for his health since July. I heard by chance on the steamer I crossed on that he was staying in Geneva, but I can't think of him as caring for anything but his money-bags—at least judging by his looks.”
“Humph, not always a safe guide. Now about his daughter. Was Mr. Carter a friend of hers, too?”
“No he never met her. That I know.”