"What reason had he to postpone his marriage and come down to this dismal place?" demanded Lemby, sourly. "You are asking me questions which I cannot answer. Evidently, although I did not know it, there was some secret in Wyke's life which made him act so strangely and drove him to suicide."
"I don't believe for one moment that he committed suicide," persisted Purse, after a pause, and remembering how Mrs. Vence had been engaged to hold her tongue; "but he evidently came down here to escape the man who slew him."
"He might have done so, sergeant." Lemby made a gesture, as if brushing aside the whole subject. "Anyhow it is a sore blow to me and to my daughter."
"To you, no doubt, Mr. Lemby, as you lose the gratification of seeing your daughter bearing a title. But, if she loves young Craver, as you hint, I think she will be glad that Wyke is gone."
"Perhaps. She's dashed obstinate. Anyhow, from what I have told you, sergeant, you must see how absurd it is to suspect me."
"I don't suspect you at all," cried Purse, rising. "When you are examined at the inquest you will no doubt be able to explain more."
"I can't explain more than I have already done." growled Lemby, sullenly. "Is not my explanation satisfactory?"
"Yes. I think it is. From the evidence given by Mrs. Vence, you did not come down the stairs until the man was dead."
"That policeman of yours can back up that statement," said Lemby, eagerly, "and, of course, Mrs. Vence saw the assassin."
"Hullo!" Purse turned sharply at the door, "I thought you believed it was a case of suicide."