“Come and lunch with me,” said T. X. “I suppose you've heard all the news.”
“I read about Kara being killed, if that's what you mean,” said the other. “It was rather a coincidence that I should have been discussing the matter last night at the very moment when his telephone bell rang—I wish to heaven you hadn't been in this,” he said fretfully.
“Why?” asked the astonished Assistant Commissioner, “and what do you mean by 'in it'?”
“In the concrete sense I wish you had not been present when I returned,” said the other moodily, “I wanted to be finished with the whole sordid business without in any way involving my friends.”
“I think you are too sensitive,” laughed the other, clapping him on the shoulder. “I want you to unburden yourself to me, my dear chap, and tell me anything you can that will help me to clear up this mystery.”
John Lexman looked straight ahead with a worried frown.
“I would do almost anything for you, T. X.,” he said quietly, “the more so since I know how good you were to Grace, but I can't help you in this matter. I hated Kara living, I hate him dead,” he cried, and there was a passion in his voice which was unmistakable; “he was the vilest thing that ever drew the breath of life. There was no villainy too despicable, no cruelty so horrid but that he gloried in it. If ever the devil were incarnate on earth he took the shape and the form of Remington Kara. He died too merciful a death by all accounts. But if there is a God, this man will suffer for his crimes in hell through all eternity.”
T. X. looked at him in astonishment. The hate in the man's face took his breath away. Never before had he experienced or witnessed such a vehemence of loathing.
“What did Kara do to you?” he demanded.
The other looked out of the window.