Alstrop twisted his unlit cigarette about in his fingers. “We all did—as delicately as we could. But it was Leila who finally convinced him. I must say Leila was very game.”
I still pondered: the scene in the paddock rose again before me, the quivering agonized animal, and the way Delane’s big hand had been laid reassuringly on its neck.
“Nonsense! I don’t believe a word of it!” I declared.
“A word of what I’ve been telling you?”
“Well, of the official version of the case.”
To my surprise, Alstrop met my glance with an eye neither puzzled nor resentful. A shadow seemed to be lifted from his honest face.
“What do you believe?” he asked.
“Why, that Delane thrashed that cur for ill-treating the poney, and not in the least for being too attentive to Mrs. Delane. I was there, I tell you—I saw him.”
Alstrop’s brow cleared completely. “There’s something to be said for that theory,” he agreed, smiling over the match he was holding to his cigarette.
“Well, then—what was there to apologize for?”