"We understand each other, Sara," said the old man painfully. "I think you would better answer his question."
"Because my husband courted the fate that befell him, Mr. Smith. That is my reply. While I do not know what actually transpired at the inn, I am reasonably certain that my husband's life was taken by some one who had suffered at his hands. I can say no more."
"The eye for an eye principle, eh?" There was deep sarcasm in the way he said it. As she did not respond to the challenge, he abruptly changed tactics. "Where were you on the night of the murder, Mrs. Wrandall?"
She smiled. "I thought you knew, Mr. Smith."
"I have reason to believe that you were at Burton's Inn," he said bluntly.
"But you wouldn't be at all sure about it if I said I wasn't there, would you, Mr. Smith?"
"I don't quite get you, Mrs. Wrandall."
"I mean to say, if I made it worth your while to change your opinion," she said flatly.
He cleared his throat. "You couldn't change my opinion, so there's an end to that. You could stop me right where I am, if that's what you mean. I'm perfectly frank about it, gentlemen. You needn't look as if you'd like to kill me. I'm not anxious to go on with the investigation. I don't know enough up to date to be sure of a conviction, but I guess I could get the proof if it is to be found. This is a family affair, I take it. Mr. Wrandall here doesn't want to—"
Mr. Wrandall struck the arm of his chair a violent blow with his clenched fist.