"Must I put the matter plainly?" sneered the professor?
"Yes," she replied quietly, "if you wish me to understand."
"Then I will. The woman who was murdered was my cousin. She left me ten thousand a year--hush, don't interrupt. Arnold Calvert, however, got round her in some way and she altered her will, leaving the money, which was rightfully mine, to him. I hate him, and I want half the money at least. I have reason to believe that he killed this woman--hush, don't interrupt--and if I can bring the crime home to him, I can make him hush it up by his giving me five thousand a year. If you will help me to prove his guilt, I will marry you and make you a baroness as soon as the income is safe."
"Emily stared, and in her clever mind calculated the chances of benefiting by this confidence. I don't see how I can help," she said, to gain time.
"I do. Did you read the case as reported in the papers?"
"Yes. But it said nothing about Mr. Calvert."
"He was the young man who spoke to the constable. Now, when he left the house my cousin was lying dead in the White Room, and a woman, to distract the attention of the police, was singing. The song that she sung is a favourite of Mrs. Fane's."
Emily now began to see whither these remarks tended. "Yes?"
"Yes!" repeated the professor impatiently. "Is that all you have to say? Do you not understand?"
"No, I don't, really, I don't."