Olive looked at him as one might regard a worm of the dust.
“Go!” she said, quietly but forcefully. “I shall not leave town, I shall probably not leave this house. Your suspicion is beneath contempt. However, it has taught me one thing,—I shall engage someone else—someone quite outside the stupid police, to discover the murderer of my uncle! And also to trace my friend, Mr. Manning.”
Hudson smiled. He looked at Olive almost tolerantly, as if she were a wilful child.
“All right. Miss Raynor. I’ll take your word as to your staying here, and I rather guess the police force will yet round up the murderer and will also discover the hiding-place of Amory Manning. Good day.”
Hudson went away, and Olive turned to me in a passion of rage.
“What insolence!” she exclaimed. “Are such things permitted? To come here and practically accuse me of my uncle’s murder!”
“He wasn’t your uncle, you know.”
“That doesn’t matter. I loved him as I would a relative. His sternness and his unreasonable commands were distasteful to me, but that didn’t alter my real love and affection for the man. He has been everything to me for the greater part of my life. He has been kindness itself in most matters. He indulged me in all possible ways as to creature comforts and luxuries. He never criticized the ways in which I spent my money, or in which I entertained myself, save in the matter of having guests or making visits.”
“And allowing admirers?”
“There were some men he approved of,—you may as well know, Mr. Brice, my guardian wished me to marry his friend and lawyer, Mr. Pond.”