“Mrs. Bean,” she said in a hoarse whisper, “who do you think did it?”
There was no answer.
“Do you think it was—Crispin?”
She asked this question timidly, but Nell did not seem offended by the suggestion. She shook her head, however.
“No, he was in the house here with me. He had been out all night in the yacht, and he was lying down to have a nap on the sofa in my sitting-room. Then”—she lowered her voice, and spoke in an awe-struck whisper—“the master came in, looking white and—and queer, bloodshot about the eyes and that, and he called Crispin out, and they both left the house together, by the back way, through the garden. And I wondered, and watched, and presently I saw them come back and they were carrying something. I didn’t guess what sort of burden it was though, not then. But while I was watching, your ring came at the bell; and as I was crossing the yard to answer it Captain Mulgrave came running after me, and he said: ‘If it’s my daughter, say I’ve shot myself, for I’m going away to-night, and I don’t mean to meet her.’ ”
Here Freda interrupted, in some distress:
“He didn’t mean to meet me! Didn’t he want me to come, then?”
“Yes, and no, I think. I believe it made him feel ashamed of himself; it reminded him, perhaps, of old days when your mother was alive, and made him feel sorry that things were not with him now as they were then.”
Freda, with tears in her eyes, drew nearer to Nell as the latter made these tardy confessions.
“Mind,” continued the housekeeper, drawing back suddenly as the girl’s arm stole round her neck, “it’s only like guess-work what I’m telling you. The Captain has never said anything of the sort to me——”