"How, deceived?" she asked, and despite the warmth of her championship there was doubt in her face.
"In being led to believe that those who are your friends are your enemies?"
"I speak as I find."
"No," said Dick, firmly, "you speak from ideas which have been put into your head, heaven knows for what purpose. What that man's motive may be----"
"Yes, yes, yes," she interrupted again. "Motive, motive, motive. I've heard enough of motive. What is yours, Mr. Remington? Who is more deeply interested in the death of Mr. Samuel Boyd, who is more directly connected with it, who has more to gain from it, than you and your friend. You speak of motive. What motive brings you here?"
"I have told you."
"You have not told me," she said, violently. "You come to seek information about my poor husband."
"Yes," he admitted, "partly."
"And," she said, very slowly, "to cast suspicion upon him, if the poor dear is alive, and so avert it from yourself and Mr. Reginald Boyd."
Dick was too startled to reply. No need to ask the source of this insidious suggestion.