“My dear Bob, I’m so glad you’ve come. I’ve been pining for some one to whom I could really talk.”
“I wasn’t at all sure whether I ought to come. I thought you might prefer to be alone, and you must have your hands very full with Sir Vernon. Of course, I’d have come sooner if I had thought you wanted me.” Again Ellery coloured.
“I want you now, anyway. And it isn’t simply that I want to talk. I want to do something, and I want your help.”
To help Joan! What thing better could Ellery have asked for? He would do anything in the world to help her. But what sort of help did she need? He longed to tell her that he was hers to command in any way she chose—because he loved her; but all he found himself saying was, “I say, that’s awfully jolly of you—to let me help you, I mean”—conscious of the banality of the words even as he spoke them.
Joan went straight to the point. “Bob, the police suspect my stepfather of being mixed up with this horrible affair. In fact, I’m sure they think he is actually guilty of murder. They’ve got hold of something that seems to incriminate him.”
Ellery made an inarticulate noise of sympathy.
“Of course, Bob, you and I know he didn’t do it. You do think he couldn’t have done it, don’t you?”
“It would certainly never have occurred to me to suspect him.”
“Of course, he’s quite innocent, and it’s all some horrible mistake. He couldn’t have done such a thing. But I want you to help me prove he didn’t.”
“My dear Joan, are you quite sure the police really suspect him? Of course, they have to make inquiries about everybody. Why, I was quite under the impression that they suspected me.”