“That—that woman. That Mrs. Carnthwacke,” Mrs. Bechcombe stormed hysterically. “I thought at least that you could see through her, that you had gone with her to make sure that she was arrested, that——”
A gleam of pity shone in Steadman's eyes as he watched her—pity that was oddly mingled with some other feeling.
“There is not the slightest ground for arresting Mrs. Carnthwacke, Madeline. I have told you so before. Less than ever now.”
“Why do you say less than ever now?” demanded Mrs. Bechcombe. “Are you blind, John Steadman? Or are you wilfully deceiving yourself? Do you not know that that woman was telling lies? I can see—I should think anyone with sense could see—what happened that dreadful day in Luke's office. She took her jewels there, her husband followed her—I believe he is in it too. Probably he has lost his money—Americans are like that, up one day and down the next. He didn't want it to be known that his wife was selling her jewels. Yes. Yes. That is how it must have been. He sent her with the diamonds to Luke and followed her to get them back and make it look as if Luke had been robbed. Luke resisted and he was killed in the struggle. Oh, yes. That was how it was! And this cock and bull story of theirs——” She paused, literally for breath.
Steadman looked pityingly at her wide, staring eyes, at her twitching mouth and the thin, nervous hands that never ceased clasping and unclasping themselves, working up and down.
“Madeline, this suspicion of Mrs. Carnthwacke is becoming a monomania with you. It is making you unjust and cruel,” he said, then waited a minute while she apparently tried to gather strength to answer him. Then he went on, “There is not the slightest ground for this new idea. Cyril B. Carnthwacke's name is one to conjure with in Wall Street as well as on the Stock Exchange here. Do you imagine that the police have neglected so very ordinary a precaution as an inquiry into his circumstances?”
With a desperate struggle Mrs. Bechcombe regained her power of speech.
“The police—the police are fools!” she cried passionately. “If a crime of this kind had been committed in Paris or New York, the murderer would have been discovered long ago, but in London—Scotland Yard cannot see what the merest tyro in such matters would recognize at once.”
“Do you think so?” John Steadman's clean-cut, humorous mouth relaxed into a faint half-smile. “I can tell you, Madeline, that both in New York and Paris it is recognized that our Criminal Investigation Department is the finest in the world. But your feeling towards Mrs. Carnthwacke is becoming an obsession. When the mystery surrounding Luke's death is cleared up, and somehow I do not think it will be long now before it is, I prophesy that you will repent your injustice.”
“I prophesy that you will repent your folly in not listening to me,” retorted Madeline Bechcombe obstinately. “That woman was lying. Ah, you may not have thought so. It takes a woman to find a woman out. If I had my way I would have women detectives——”