“It didn’t. I was nervous and overwrought, and I chanced to faint just then.”
Fessenden saw that this explanation was untrue, but had been thought up and held ready for this occasion. He saw, too, that the girl held herself well in hand, so he dared to be more definite in his inquiries.
“Do you know, Miss Dupuy, that you are seriously incriminating yourself when you give false evidence?”
“I don’t care,” was the answer, not flippantly given, but with an earnestness of which the speaker herself seemed unaware.
And Fessenden was a good enough reader of character to perceive that she spoke truthfully.
The only construction he could put upon this was that, as he couldn’t help believing, the girl was innocent and therefore feared no incriminating evidence against her.
But in that case what was she afraid of, and why was she running away?
“Miss Dupuy,” he began, starting on a new tack, “please show more confidence in me. Will you answer me more straightforwardly if I assure you of my belief in your own innocence? I will not conceal from you the fact that not every one is so convinced of that as I am, and so I look to you for help to establish it.”
“Establish what? My innocence?” said Cicely, and now she looked bewildered, rather than afraid. “Does anybody think that I killed Miss Van Norman?”
“Without going so far as to say any one thinks so, I will tell you that they think there are indications that point to such a thing.”