“You’ll excuse me for saying that I think it was. You took an altogether wrong view of his—his death; a view which I hope you’ve seen fit to change after a night’s reflection.”
“You mean about Robert committing suicide?”
Austin inclined his head.
“I haven’t changed my opinion in the slightest degree,” she retorted. “I am still quite convinced that Robert did not commit suicide.”
Austin darted an angry glance at her, but controlled himself with a visible effort. “Have you reflected what that implies?” he asked in a low tone.
“What does it imply?”
“Murder.” He breathed the word with a hurried glance around him, as though apprehensive of being overheard, but the lounge was empty, and they were quite alone.
“I am aware of that.”
“Then is it still your intention to go to the police with this terrible suspicion?” he asked, in a voice that trembled with agitation.
It was on the tip of Mrs. Pendleton’s tongue to reply that she had already been to the police, but she decided to withhold that piece of information until she had heard all that her brother had to say.