"I decline to do so," said Dora coldly; "and I don't see how I can help you."
"As you decline to give your aid," said Pallant quietly, "there is no necessity to discuss the matter. But I fancied you might be able to tell me something about Mr. Joad."
"You don't think he killed Edermont?"
"Why not? Certainly I did not know his name in connection with Mr. Edermont's past. But for all that he might have killed his patron."
"For what reason, Mr. Pallant?"
"That is just where I require to be enlightened by you."
"I am afraid I cannot enlighten you," she replied, "and I would not if I could. There is no sense in believing Joad killed my guardian. In the first place, far from being desirable, Mr. Edermont's death was a bad thing to happen for Joad's comfort. In the second, Mr. Joad was in his cottage at one o'clock in the morning, as was proved by Mr. Pride. To my own knowledge, the murder was committed about that time, so Mr. Joad could not have been the assassin."
"It all seems clear enough," said Pallant, preparing to climb into the trap which was waiting for him; "but, all the same, I mistrust Joad. You say the murder was committed at one o'clock. Joad says he was in his cottage at one o'clock, and calls upon Mr. Pride to substantiate his statement. Very good. We will believe all that. But," added Pallant, gathering up the reins, "your clock in the hall might have been wrong."
After which remark he raised his hat, and drove off smiling. Dora did not think that his remark about the clock was worthy of consideration, for she had set her watch by it before retiring to bed on the night of the second of August. It was right then, and no one could possibly have put it wrong in the meantime. Joad had proved his alibi clearly enough, and there was no possible suspicion that he was guilty of the crime, especially as its committal had not been to his advantage.
Curiously enough, Joad knew nothing of Pallant's visit, nor did Dora intend to inform him of it. He had been in the library all the morning, reading ancient books, and sipping brandy out of the flask he carried constantly in the tail pocket of his dingy coat. Not wishing to disturb him in the midst of his pleasures, Dora returned to her own sitting-room, and sat down to think. While thus employed, Mrs. Tice entered the room with a letter in her hand. She looked distressed.