"You speak in riddles."
"Let them remain riddles if you have any love for me," said Durban moodily; and Beatrice, although anxious to hear more, held her peace.
After all, she had her own cross to bear. In some way Vivian was mixed up with this horrible crime. He could not possibly be guilty of it, in spite of the evidence. Moreover, Mrs. Snow said that the assassin was the same as he who had killed Colonel Hall, which would put Vivian's innocence beyond a doubt. In spite of her desire to obey Durban to whom she owed so much, Beatrice had to insist on an answer to this question. "I won't ask you anything more," she said to the sullen man--and he was sullen--"only this: Is the assassin of Colonel Hall the assassin of Mr. Alpenny?"
"I think so," muttered the man, "but I cannot be sure."
"You must be sure, for my peace of mind, Durban."
"Your peace of mind, missy?" he asked, surprised.
"Yes. I must tell you, as I know you will hold your tongue. But I think--I believe--no, I don't: but I fancy, that is. Durban"--she caught the man's shoulders and shook him in the roadway--"did Vivian Paslow murder Mr. Alpenny?"
"Missy!" Durban looked startled, but his eyes sparkled. "No! no! One thousand times no! What makes you think that?"
"The handkerchief--the key," and Beatrice, producing the handkerchief, told Durban the whole of what had happened. "And I am thankful that Mrs. Snow did not see me pick it up," she finished.
"Wait till we get to The Camp, missy," said the old servant kindly, and led her along the short distance that intervened between where they had stopped and The Camp itself. Once there, Durban took her to the parlour-carriage and went away. He returned with some orange-blossom water, which is a good nerve tonic, and made her take it. When the girl was more composed, he stood before her with raised finger.