"Because I love you so," said the girl with an adoring look, and Miss Bull patted her hand fondly. It was strange, thought the inspector, that so clever and refined a woman should love so stupid and coarse-looking a girl. But like does not always draw to like.
While Quex was thus examining the witnesses, Train and Brendon were seated in the sitting-room of the former, discussing the crime. Brendon was gloomy, for in the unexpected death of Mrs. Jersey he saw the downfall of his hopes of proving his legitimacy. "There's no chance of my marrying Dorothy now," he said with a sigh. "I'll remain plain George Brendon to the end of my days, and a bachelor at that."
"It's awful!" gasped Leonard, who was white and haggard. "I never expected that my search for types would lead me into the neighborhood of a tragedy. Who could have killed her?"
"I can't say."
"I wonder if her death has anything to do with your affairs?"
Brendon looked up suddenly and with a stern, flushed face. "Train," he said sharply, "whatever you do, say nothing about what I told you last night."
"Yes. But what you told me might lead to the discovery of the assassin."
"I don't care if it does," said Brendon, angrily, and rising to his feet to emphasize his determination, "you are to keep my confidence."
"Oh, I shan't say anything. But do you think----"
"I think nothing. But I am sure that my affairs have nothing to do with this death. I came to see Mrs. Jersey, and this morning I should have had the truth out of her. But she is dead, and so all my projects go to the four winds. But I don't want them spoken of."