“You have not told me anything new,” she said quietly. “You see, all along I have known that the ‘A.C.’ in your name stood for ‘Alfred Cartwright,’ and once uncle told me that he had known a relative of yours, and I guessed.”
Suddenly she demanded:
“Do you think Cartwright is in Europe?”
Timothy nodded.
“I am certain. That is, if Morocco is in Europe,” he said. “I have had it in the back of my mind ever since the crime was committed that that is the place he would make for. You see, in the few minutes I had with him he told me, perhaps not the whole of the story, but at any rate his version. He knows Morocco and has been there before. He spoke about a Moorish chief named El Mograb, who wanted him to stay with the tribe, and he told me he was sorry he had not followed the Moor’s advice.”
“Did you tell the police that?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“I did not tell the police very much about that visit. Cartwright revived his accusations against Sir John. It meant digging up these charges, and that is what I did not wish to do, for—for——”
“For my sake?” she said quietly.
“That’s about the size of it,” replied Timothy.