“Either that, or an exceedingly clever mind trying to give the effect of a more or less demented person.”
“Have you, in your talks with the servants or secretaries, learned any rational explanation for those strange conditions?”
“None at all.”
“One more question, please, Mr. Ames,” Kee said, gravely, “and then I have done. Have you, since the death of Sampson Tracy, learned of any incident aside from these strange conditions we have mentioned, that seems to you to implicate Miss Remsen?”
An obstinate look came over Ames’s face, and he shook his head, but it was plain to be seen that he was concealing something.
“You can’t expect us to believe that half-hearted negation,” Kee said, with a nod of understanding. “I know you don’t want to accuse that poor girl of anything more, but try to realize that what you think against her interests may be for them.”
“That’s a new way to put it!” and Ames looked a little bewildered. “But it might be true. You know in the story books the nephew is always overheard having a violent altercation with his uncle, but he is always proved innocent.”
“Who overheard Miss Remsen quarrelling with her uncle?”
“I did. I may as well tell you, for I daresay it is my duty. And it may, as you say, redound to her favour, though I can’t see how. Well, I was passing through the hall on the Tuesday afternoon, the afternoon she said she was there, you know, and the two were in the library. The door was partly open, and with no intent of eavesdropping, I couldn’t help hearing some words as I went by. Alma was talking, and while not loud, her voice was strained, tense, as if with deep feeling or passion. She was saying: ‘Please don’t tell Mrs. Dallas, uncle, please don’t! If you do, I shall do something desperate! I can’t bear it to have you tell her! She hates me, anyhow, and it would make her hate me worse! Uncle, I beg of you....’ I heard no more, as I went right along.”
“You’re sure of what you did hear?”