“Yes. I know.”
“I ask you—you—had they the slightest reason for that suspicion?”
“Why do you ask it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose it’s because you are you; and if any one can see through a thing, you can.”
“Thanks greatly for that compliment. I shall treasure it,” he answered, glad of the pretext for turning a lighter vein on to what was becoming somewhat tense. “Wait now,”—seeing a spasm of disappointment begin to flit over her face, at the fancied consciousness that she was not being taken seriously. “What I was going to say is this: All tragical happenings of this nature, involving mystery, are bound to convey a certain element of suspicion. Very well then. This affair answers exactly to these conditions. The local police, therefore, did no more than their duty in watching it. But they have now realised the futility of doing so any longer.”
Melian looked up quickly.
“Have they?” she said.
“Yes. You may take it from me.”
A breath of relief escaped her, but it was not wholehearted relief. This assuredly did not escape her companion’s keen perception.
“Tell me another thing,” she said swiftly, and again looking him full in the face. “I hardly like to ask it, but I will. Was it not the investigation of this—mystery, that brought you down here in the first instance?”