"I fear you are not," I answered, gravely, "and I thank Heaven for it. Now, if you will just put all these matters into my hands, and tell me what I ask, you will have no further cause for deception, and, I hope, no more trouble."
"What do you ask?" she said, and never before had she looked so lovely. She spoke in a low tone and had she been the most finished coquette she could not have appeared more alluring. I was tempted almost beyond my strength to clasp her in my arms and say, "I ask only for you," but I knew were I to precipitate matters in that way I might antagonize her, and so lose what slight chance I had of helping her.
"I ask," I said, in low even tones, "that you will tell me frankly why you made no mention of the letter from Jonathan Scudder?"
"Because I wished suspicion to rest upon J. S.!" The words were quick and incisive, and fairly cut into the air as she enunciated them clearly and emphatically.
"Do you know Jonathan Scudder?"
"I do not. I never heard the name until I read that letter. But I know J. S. to be an enemy of my uncle, and why may it not be that he came and killed Uncle Robert, even after he sent that letter? Perhaps he sent it for a blind."
"Miss Pembroke, you do not believe J. S. came at all on Wednesday night. You know he did not, and you are making this up simply that suspicion may be turned in his direction. Is not this true?"
"Yes," faintly murmured the girl, "you asked me to be frank, and I have been."
She was making an awful admission, and she was perfectly well aware of it. Fear clutched at my heart. If she herself had killed her uncle, how natural to endeavor to throw suspicion on an unknown man. Again, if Leroy were implicated, or if they had been companions in wrong-doing how equally plausible a ruse!