“Why suspect anybody? I mean, what do we care? In one sense, I’d like to see the death of Uncle Herbert avenged, but on the other hand I’d hate to see women’s names dragged through the police court——”
“But if they were guilty?”
“That’s just the point! Ten chances to one they wouldn’t be. I mean those dunder-headed detectives are quite capable of getting the wrong ones and then railroading them through.”
“Perhaps so. But I think you ought to do more than you have done. Why, Rick,—if,—if you don’t, first thing you know they’ll suspect you!”
“What! Don’t be foolish, dear. I’m not a woman.”
“I know, but some people think that’s a blind,——”
“It can’t be a blind. There’s Uncle Bin’s writing,—and I know him well enough to be sure that with his dying breath he didn’t write anything but the truth. No, sir, women are responsible for that murder, and directly, too. Uncle Bin never flung that accusation at women if they were merely implicated. Now, don’t you see, dear, that investigation must result in tragedy for some women,—and, as I say,—probably not the guilty ones.”
“But it must be fastened on the guilty ones. They must be found——”
Dorcas’ red lower lip quivered, and the big tears gathered in her eyes. She strove to keep her calmness but she was rapidly losing control over her emotions.
“Why, Dorrie, darling, what is it? Tell me,—I’ll do whatever you want,—whatever you say! Do you know something you haven’t told me? Something you don’t want to tell me? What is the matter, dearest?”