Ronald arose to his feet, and walked hastily too and fro. He was wrong, then; Mrs. Verschoyle was innocent of her husband's death. Who, then, was the assassin, for no one else appeared to have had any reason to wish him evil. Vassalla himself? no! it could not be he, because he had no motive. The theory of Mrs. Verschoyle's criminality having been thus effectually disposed of, there appeared to be absolutely no clue to the perpetrator of the crime.
Vassalla returned with the letter, and handed it to Ronald, showing him at the same time the passage he alluded to.
"I was so sorry," said the letter, "not to have been able to come down and see you and Carmela away by the boat, but I had a very bad headache, and was shut up all the evening in my room."
Ronald handed back the letter in silence, but first thoughtfully glanced at the writing. It certainly resembled that in the letter written five or six years ago, but he could not recollect it with sufficient clearness to satisfy himself.
"You are convinced?" said Vassalla, as he placed the letter in his pocket-book.
"Yes," answered Ronald, "I am convinced; good-bye, and thank you for your kindness in answering my questions."
"A pleasure," said the Marchese, and bowed his visitor out with smiles, which, however, faded as the door closed.
"Curse that meddling fool," he muttered to himself, "why can't he mind his own business? but I've baffled him this time, and I'll baffle him again if he interfere."