The girl nodded shortly. "It's not my business," she said. "I am glad you came. I wanted to ask you something. Who is this man Rowan who killed my uncle?"
Deane shook his head slowly. "No one knows very much about him," he said. "They were out in South Africa together. It was there, perhaps, that their quarrel, if they had one, started."
"It says in the Times this morning that he has been reprieved. Why?" she asked fiercely. "Why don't they hang him?"
"Because they came to the conclusion," he answered, "that there had been a fight, and that it was not a deliberate murder."
"They ought to have hanged him," she declared. "It was brutal—hideous!"
"You are going to London, are you not?" he asked quietly.
Her eyes flashed. "Yes!" she answered. "I am going. I am afraid it will be too late. All the papers declare that my uncle's possessions were of little value. He has been robbed. I am sure he has been robbed. His letter told me that he would have plenty of money. He would not write and tell me that if he had nothing."
"You will be able to find out," Deane answered, a little coldly.
"I shall find out," the girl declared. "I am going to a good lawyer. He wrote as though he had something in his possession which was worth money. It was for that, I am sure, that this man Rowan tried to kill him. I shall find out all about it when I get there."
"The man Rowan was arrested on the premises," Deane reminded her. "There was no time for him to have taken anything away, and the room was locked up by the police."