"It is well spoken. My sister chose to marry Samuel Weatherley, and the women of our race have been famous throughout history for their constancy. Must you, my dear young friend, go and hide your head in the sand because a woman is beautiful and chooses to be kind to you? Fenella values your friendship. You have done her a service and you have done me a service. A few nights ago it amused me to feed your suspicions. This morning I feel otherwise. We do not choose, either of us, that you should think of us quite in the way you are thinking now."
Arnold hesitated no longer then. He came and stood by his visitor.
"Since you insist, then," he declared, "I will ask you the questions which I should have asked your sister. That is what you desire?"
"Assuredly," Sabatini assented.
"First then, who killed Rosario?"
"There is a certain directness about your methods," Sabatini said suavely, "which commends itself to me. No one could mistake you for anything but an Englishman."
"Tell me who killed Rosario!" Arnold repeated.
"As you will," Sabatini replied. "Rosario was murdered by a Portuguese Jew—a man of the name of Isaac Lalonde."