It was proof of the fallibility of human testimony that Mrs. Pendleton had sincerely convinced herself that she was quite sure. “Yes,” she said.
Barrant looked doubtful. By reason of his calling he was well aware of the human tendency to unintentional mistake in identity. With women especially, the jump from an impression to a conclusion was sometimes as rapid as the thought itself.
“Did you see his face?” he asked.
“Only the eyes. But I am sure that they were Thalassa’s eyes.”
Barrant did not press the point. He did not doubt the honesty of her belief, but the words in which it was conveyed suggested hasty impression rather than conviction. Such proofs of identity were not to be relied upon.
“Had your brother’s servant any reason, so far as you know, to be listening at the door?” he asked.
“All servants are curious,” murmured Mrs. Pendleton. She shook her head wisely, as one intimating a wide knowledge of their class.
“All curious servants are not murderers,” returned Barrant. “This man has been in your brother’s service for a long time, has he not?”
“For a great number of years. Almost ever since Robert returned to England, I think.”
“So Mr. Austin Turold informed me. Had he any grudge against his master?”