“Why did you bring that man here?” she demanded again, and took up a defiant position on the hearthrug.
“I wish to ask you a question,” said Sorley feebly, for his wrath had almost worn him out, and he felt that he was at the mercy of his enemy.
“You ask me a question,” she echoed contemptuously, “the police wish to ask you one or two, you—you criminal.”
“I—I—I am not a criminal,” panted the other, sitting down suddenly.
“You are. Inspector Moon has been to see me. He related how Mr. Latimer—and I thank Mr. Latimer for doing so—gave him the letter you wrote to Baldwin which proves that you were with him on that night. I know also what the police know, that you have the peacock which you took from his body, you beast!”
“It’s a lie! a lie, Louisa, and you know it. It was you who brought the peacock to The Monastery when you came down for the funeral.”
“Ha! is that so?” she said tauntingly; “and how are you going to prove I did such a thing?”
“You don’t deny it, Miss Grison?” asked Alan, with some sharpness.
“Yes, I do. I deny it at once and with all truth. I stole the peacock to punish that brute who ruined us, and I gave it to Baldwin. He had it in his possession when he was murdered, and since he has it,” she pointed an accusing finger at Sorley, who winced and wilted, “he is guilty.”
“You brought it to The Monastery to trap me,” said the man resolutely.