For since Fessenden’s assertions of confidence, Carleton had changed in his attitude toward the world at large.
Still broken and saddened by the tragedy, he did not show that abject and self-condemnatory air which had hung round him during the inquest week.
Kitty French had almost recovered faith in him, and had there been any one else at all to suspect, she would have asserted her belief in his innocence.
Carleton himself seemed baffled. His suspicions had been directed toward Cicely, because he could see no other possibility; but the proof of her suspicions of himself, of course, showed he was wrong in the matter.
He could suggest nothing; he could think of nobody who might have done the deed, and he was thoroughly content to place the whole affair unreservedly in the hands of Fleming Stone.
Indeed, every one seemed to be glad of the expected help, if we except Fessenden. He was restlessly eager to do something himself, and saw no reason why he shouldn’t keep on trying until Stone came.
XXII
A TALK WITH MISS MORTON
Of course Fessenden confided his wishes to Kitty French. Equally of course, that obliging young woman was desirous of helping him attain them. But neither of them could think of new lines of investigation to pursue.
“We’ve no clue but that little cachou,” said Miss French, by way of summing up; “and as that’s no good at all, we have really nothing that can be called a clue.”