“I believe, on the contrary, it has set them going,” said Donna Teresa, gazing reflectively at the ground. She exclaimed impetuously the next moment—“Do you really believe that any man who had shared in such an awful tragedy could go about the world picking pockets? Think what he must carry with him! Think what his thoughts must be! Though he was acquitted, it wasn’t from any doubt that he did the deed. And even if he is able to persuade himself that he was right, he can’t believe it always; there must be dark dreadful hours when her face comes between him and everything he looks at. At the best, to have been her executioner! I wish—oh, I do wish I had not felt so certain he was the man!”
Her voice trembled slightly, and Wilbraham’s face grew a little hard.
“I should expect the greater to include the less,” he returned shortly; “and I wouldn’t waste my compunctions if I were you.”
She glanced at him with a change of expression.
“You believe I was right in my first idea?”
“Undoubtedly.”
She stopped.
“Then what are you going to do?”
“I’m off to the police office, the questura, or whatever you call it.”
“Do you want me?”