“No such thing ever took place—not as described by Lady Annesley’s father. My assistants have made an exhaustive search through the records,” smiled Mr. Asbury. “The fact is Mr. Hamilton—or Mr. Egerton—became a monomaniac upon that one subject. His mind dwelt upon it until he thoroughly believed in it.”
Still Annesley was not convinced.
“The badly-scrawled note that I found upon the night of his death. How do you account for that?”
“Without a doubt he wrote it himself,” the detective said, confidently. “I have met with similar cases, Sir Harold.”
“Mr. Asbury, I am woefully disappointed,” the baronet said. “Nothing but theory—not one atom of fact. And yet you talk of making an arrest!”
“Yes; and it depends upon you whether it is wise to take such a step. You admit having let one other person into the secret—the secret of this supposed danger that menaces you and Lady Annesley.”
“Well?”
“This person is the author of the last anonymous warning, and if you insist upon an arrest, you will be called upon to prosecute your cousin—Miss Margaret Nugent!”
Sir Harold stared at the detective—pale and speechless for a minute.
The monstrous charge against Margaret appeared too much to believe. Then he thought of what Lady Elaine had said—of Theresa’s dislike, and exclaimed, huskily: