“Who was murdered. Yes, yes.”
“He told me he—had seen the thief.”
“Yes. That came out at the inquest. Well?”
“He told me that the thief was Miss Bostal; that he had seen her come out of the inn on the night that an attempt was made to rob Mr. Hemming.”
“When did he tell you this?”
“On the afternoon of the next day.”
“Why did you not say this at the inquest? Why did you let it be thought he meant that he had seen you?”
Nell looked up with tears in her eyes.
“I was in a great difficulty. I didn’t know what to think, even then. I had always thought Miss Theodora so good, and besides she had been so kind to me, that I didn’t know what to believe myself. It was all so dreadful, and I asked myself what she could do such things for. Besides, her manner when I told her Jem Stickels had threatened to tell the police was so cool. She didn’t seem to be in the least concerned about it. How could I suppose it was because she meant to get him out of the way? Oh! I can’t believe it even now, I can’t, I can’t. Why should she do it, unless she was mad? And there never seemed to be a trace of madness about her. I always thought she was very clever.”
Sir Neville smiled a little at her ingenuousness. Nell herself might not be very clever, but assuredly she was a loyal-hearted friend, to bear the obloquy which the affair had cast upon her, without a thought of clearing herself by betraying her friend.