"And you came on here?"
"No, I did not. I never thought he would dare to bring any woman here--nor do I believe that he did so. Where he went I cannot say. But I waited at the Liverpool Street Station throughout that long evening. He came late and caught the midnight train. I went down also. He never saw me, and as I had discovered nothing I said nothing. He never thought that I had followed him: he never knew I was out of the house. When I saw the death in the papers I never suspected him. I do not suspect him now. Walter is too great a coward to commit a crime. And he certainly would not have got rid of his victim in his own house, thus bringing down the temple on his own head."
"You believe him to be innocent?" asked Bocaros, puzzled.
"I do. Would any man be such a fool as to act this way in his own house? Had he known this woman, had he desired to get rid of her, he would have taken her to the other end of London, as far away from our home as possible."
"I can see that. And, madame, I ask your pardon for my unjust suspicions. You are innocent." And he bent to kiss her hand.
Mrs. Fane snatched it away fiercely. "Innocent,--of course I am. I can prove that I was at the Liverpool Street Station all that evening. I was in the ladies' waiting-room. You can understand how the phonograph deceived the police. As to this woman, I never heard of her--I don't know her."
"She is my cousin."
"Then how did she come to enter my house?"
"I thought that you secured the key and----"
"And admitted Arnold. No, I didn't. My sister----" Mrs. Fane suddenly clutched her hair, moved out of her usual self. "Great heavens!" she muttered. "Can Laura have got an impression of the key and----"