‘I am going to England,’ she said, abruptly, to Calton, rousing herself out of these painful reflections.
‘After the trial, I presume?’ observed Calton, slowly.
‘Yes,’ she answered, hesitatingly; ‘do you think they will—they will—hang the girl?’
Calton shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can’t tell you,’ he answered, with a half smile; ‘if she is found guilty—well—I think she will be imprisoned for life.’
‘Poor Kitty,’ said Madame, sadly, ‘it was an evil hour when you met Vandeloup. What do you think of him?’ she asked, suddenly.
‘He’s a scoundrel,’ returned Calton, decisively; ‘still, a clever one, with a genius for intrigue; he should have lived in the times of Borgian Rome, where his talents would have been appreciated; now we have lost the art of polite murder.’
‘Do you know,’ said Mrs Villiers, musingly, leaning back in her chair, ‘I cannot help thinking Kitty is innocent of this crime.’
‘She may be,’ returned Calton, ambiguously, ‘but the evidence seems very strong against her.’
‘Purely circumstantial,’ interrupted Madame Midas, quickly.
‘Purely circumstantial, as you say,’ assented Calton; ‘still, some new facts may be discovered before the trial which may prove her to be innocent. After the mystery which enveloped the death of Oliver Whyte in the hansom cab murder I hesitate giving a decided answer, in any case till everything has been thoroughly sifted; but, if not Kitty Marchurst, whom do you suspect—Vandeloup?’