“To be put through an examination! No, thank you. I’m going away where I hope I shall never see a detective or a coroner again!”
“Are you afraid of them, Miss Dupuy?”
The girl gave him a strange glance; but it showed anxiety rather than fear. However, her only reply was a low spoken “Yes.”
“And why are you afraid?”
“I am afraid I may tell things that I don’t want to tell.” The girl spoke abstractedly and seemed to be thinking aloud rather than addressing her questioner.
It may be that Fessenden was influenced by her beauty or by the exquisite femininity of her dainty contour and apparel, but aside from all this he received a sudden impression that what this girl said did not betoken guilt. He could not have explained it to himself, but he was at the moment convinced that though she knew more than she had yet told, Cicely Dupuy was herself innocent.
“Miss Dupuy,” he said very earnestly, “won’t you look upon me as a friend instead of a foe? I am quite sure you can tell me more than you have told about the Van Norman tragedy. Am I wrong in thinking you are keeping something back?”
“I have nothing to tell,” said Cicely, and the stubborn expression returned to her eyes.
It did not seem a very appropriate place in which to carry on such a personal conversation, but Fessenden thought perhaps the very publicity of the scene might tend to make Miss Dupuy preserve her equanimity better than in a private house. So he went on:
“Yes, you have several things to tell me, and I want you to tell me now. The last time I talked to you about this matter I asked you why you gave false evidence as to the time that Mr. Carleton entered the Van Norman house that evening, and you responded by fainting away. Now you must tell me why that question affected you so seriously.”