George and Janet both looked at Laura as if startled by her remark. The fact that they were startled startled me. If they had known the clever individual whom Laura merely imagined, they couldn't have acted differently. But all this muddle of impressions on my mind really led to nothing. "If I'm going to do any detecting," I said to myself severely, "it's time I set about it, and not depend on guessing what people may mean by the expressions on their faces—especially faces capable of such ambiguous expressions as the two before me."
Determined, therefore, to lead the conversation into channels that would at least put me in the way of learning some facts about the previous life of the Pembrokes and of George Lawrence, I spoke generally of ways and means of living in New York. I learned that Janet had the tastes and inclinations of a society girl, but that, owing to her uncle's restrictions, she had been able only slightly to gratify these inclinations. She was fond of concerts and theatres, of going shopping and calling, and yet had never been allowed the money or the freedom to pursue these pleasures. My heart sank as I realized how everything the girl said would tell against her should she ever be called to the witness box.
Young Lawrence, it seemed, had similar social tastes, but even when he lived with the Pembrokes had been more free to go and come than his cousin. And, of course, since he had lived alone he was entirely his own master. He was a member of various clubs, and seemed to be fond of card-playing and billiards, in moderation. I also learned, though, I think, through an inadvertence, that he dabbled a little in Wall Street. It seemed surprising that a young artist could support himself in comfortable bachelor quarters and still have money left with which to speculate. This would not be in his favor, had there been a shadow of suspicion against him; but there could be no such suspicion, for even with his latch-key he could not get in at the door. He could hardly be taken for a professional housebreaker; and, besides, he was prepared to prove an alibi. I had little faith in this mythical personage we had built up with a motive and an opportunity, and as I reasoned round and round in a circle I was always confronted by the terrifying fact that a disinterested judge would suspect Janet and that, were I disinterested, I should suspect her myself. And so the reasoning went on in my excited brain, till I felt that I must go for a long walk in the cool night air as the only means of regaining my own clearness of vision.
Soon after dinner, then, I announced my intention of going out.
Lawrence said that he would spend some hours looking over his late uncle's papers, and Laura declared that she would tuck Miss Pembroke in bed early for a good night's rest.
I started out by myself, and, swinging into Broadway, I turned and walked rapidly downtown. This was my custom when I had serious matters to think of. The crowded brightness of the street always seemed to stimulate my brain, while it quieted my nerves. I hadn't gone a dozen blocks before I had come to two or three different conclusions, right or wrong though they may have been.
The first of these was a conviction that Janet felt more than a cousinly interest in George Lawrence. But this I also concluded might be caused by one of two things; it might be either a romantic attachment or Janet might suspect her cousin to be guilty of her uncle's death. If the first were true, Janet might have been in league with George and might have opened the door for him the night before. I was facing the thing squarely now, and laying aside any of my own prejudices or beliefs, while I considered mere possibilities.
If, on the other hand, Janet suspected George, without real knowledge, this fact of course left Janet herself free of all suspicion. While I couldn't believe that the two had connived at their uncle's death, still less could I believe that Janet had done the deed herself. Therefore, I must face all the possibilities, and even endeavor to imagine more than I had yet thought of.
But the more I considered imaginary conditions, the more they seemed to me ridiculous and untenable. George was not in the apartment; Janet was. George was not at the mercy of his uncle's brutal temper; Janet was. George did not want money and freedom to pursue his chosen ways of life; Janet did.
Much as I liked George, I would gladly have cast the weight of suspicion on him instead of on Janet, had I but been able to do so.