"Go on, go on," jeered her father; "you are making out a fine case against me."
"Not against you, but against this relative of yours. Ah! you wince. I am right. He is a relative. No person who wasn't could bear so strong a resemblance to another. He is some relation of whom you are ashamed--a twin brother, for all I know. He was in your study that day when you said it was Van Zwieten who was with you."
"He was not!" retorted Scarse, angrily. "How dare you make me out a liar? Van Zwieten was with me. I locked the door of the study because we had quarrelled. He insisted on leaving the room, and, as I refused to open the door, he stepped out of the window, and went round and rang the front-door bell for admittance."
"That is an ingenious, but a far-fetched explanation, father."
"It is the true one. You can take or leave it."
"I leave it, then," said Brenda, calmly. "You had the stranger in your study, and you afterwards sent him off by the 10:30 train. He was seen at the station!"
Scarse started. "By whom?" he asked hurriedly.
"By Van Zwieten and the station-master!"
"Van Zwieten?" repeated Scarse, irritably. "He saw--who told you all this rubbish?"
"Wilfred. The station-master told him. Besides, it is not rubbish. Oh, father, why won't you be frank with me? We have not much feeling for one another, but still I am your daughter, and I want to help you; so does Harold----"