"I see what?" she questioned nervously.
"That the Lister person must know somewhat of this crime, if, indeed, he did not strike the blow himself."
"How can you say that, when you lately intimated that Mr. Lister—if it was Mr. Lister, which I doubt—had come to see me?"
"I remember the evidence given by yourself and your aunt at the inquest," retorted Pence sharply. "You were locked in your room, and were in a drugged sleep. Mrs. Coppersley had gone to my lodgings to deliver the note from your late father, which I found on my return. That Lister person must have seen your father, and, as they were not on good terms—"
"How do you know that they were not?"
"Because your late father hated the very name of Lister, and said that he would rather see you dead than married to him. Also in the note left at my lodgings, your father said that he had quarrelled seriously with this Lister person, and had locked you in your room. Now, if I showed that note to the police, and related how the Lister person had brushed me aside so that he could cross the channel, he would be arrested."
"No, he would not," said Bella doggedly, but her heart sank.
"Yes, he would. He hated your late father; he was alone in the house with him, and I believe that he killed him so that he might marry you."
"As if I would marry any man who murdered my father," said Bella angrily. "You are talking a lot of nonsense, Mr. Pence. Mr. Lister was in London on that evening, and afterwards went to Paris."
"I don't believe it. Who told you?"