“At any time. The curiosity I inspire doesn’t tempt me to encounter my friends, I can assure you,” she replied, her face hardening at the recollection. “But ... Mr Carrados——”
“Yes?”
“The inquest is on Monday afternoon.... I had a sort of desperate faith that you would be able to vindicate papa.”
“By the time of the inquest, you mean?”
“Yes. Otherwise——”
“The verdict of a coroner’s jury means nothing, Miss Whitmarsh. It is the merest formality.”
“It means a very great deal to me. It haunts and oppresses me. If they say—if it goes out—that papa is guilty of the attempt of murder, and of suicide, I shall never raise my head again.”
Carrados had no desire to prolong a futile discussion.
“Good-night,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Good-night, Mr Carrados.” She detained him a moment, her voice vibrant with quiet feeling. “I already owe you more than I can ever hope to express. Your wonderful kindness——”