“Lady Violet is worthy of any man’s admiration, and I am quite as determined as you are to protect her from any dastardly use of her correspondence. I should not have blamed you severely for anything you might have done for her protection if you had been acting in a private capacity. But you are here in a responsible position. You owe it to the Home Office and to me to conduct the inquiry into this murder without fear or favour, whatever may be the consequences, and whoever may be guilty. You must ask yourself if you have done so.”
I am afraid I asked myself instead how much he really knew. So far he had made no definite accusation. He had charged me with nothing but a display of personal sympathy and antipathy, a charge which it would have been foolish to deny.
“It is a question of temperament, it seems to me,” pursued the consultant in the same even tones. “Sympathy is a valuable quality in a doctor, but it is fatal in a criminal investigator. I think I made a mistake in inviting you to enter the Government service. You would get on better in private practice.”
The blow had fallen and I had only to make the best of it. “Of course, I am in your hands, sir. If that is your opinion I will send in my resignation.”
Australia, Canada, South Africa passed before my mind’s eye as I spoke, as possible refuges for a penniless medico. I could not hope for anything in England after being practically dismissed from the Home Office.
My prompt offer, however, seemed to have greatly softened my judge.
“We will talk of that after I have come back from Paris,” he said kindly. “For your own sake I don’t advise any sudden step. And there is Lady Violet to consider. As I said before, you have acted as her champion. Anything like a public slur on you, or an admission on your part that you were to blame, would be certain to give her pain, even if it didn’t reflect on her. She spoke of you to me this morning in a very friendly way.”
Poor Violet. So she had done the very worst thing she could have done in my interest. To praise a young man to an elderly admirer—what other result could it have but to ensure his being driven from the field?
I was too much cast down to make any response to Sir Frank’s well-meant advice, beyond a silent bow. He was as friendly as ever the next minute, invited me to come to Charing Cross to see him off, and shook my hand cordially at parting. I preferred to walk home afterwards, dreading the dull hours till bedtime. So miserable was I that, when I came in, I should have gone straight upstairs without looking to see if there were any letters for me if I had not been arrested by a faint fragrance that had many memories for me.
I looked down, and there was a delicate blue envelope beckoning me by name.