"What has he to do with it?" asked Scarse, sharply.
"It was Harold who searched the corpse before it was taken to the Manor," replied Brenda, speaking slowly. "In the clenched right hand a morsel of black crape was found. Father, it was torn off that scarf!"
"You cannot be certain of that."
"How otherwise could so strange a material as crape come to be in the dead man's hand? He cried out before he was shot; I heard him. He must have clutched at his assailant and torn a piece from his scarf."
"Did you see me shoot Mr. Malet?"
"I saw no one shoot him; but I am certain it was that man."
Scarse rose and paced up and down the room. "I was the man, I tell you, who wore the scarf," he said for the third time, "and I never even saw Malet on that night. I have no brother, no relatives of any kind, save your aunt, Mrs. St. Leger."
"You won't trust me?" said Brenda, sadly.
"There is nothing more to say," replied her father, his features set hard as a flint. "It is useless my giving you the facts if you won't believe them. I have no idea who the man was who was seen at the station. Van Zwieten said nothing to me about it. I am the man Harold took for a stranger, and I cut Captain Burton because I dislike him very much. I did not see Mr. Malet--certainly I did not kill him--and--and I have no more to say."
"How do you account for that piece of crape in the hand of----"