"You may be perfectly frank with me, Miss Fletcher," he said encouragingly.
She fixed her eyes upon a point beyond his shoulder. My brother," she said in a faint voice, "had affairs with - with women."
Hannasyde nodded.
"I never inquired into them, and of course he never spoke of them to me, but naturally I knew. In my young days, Superintendent, ladies did not discuss such matters. Nowadays things are different, and young people seem to talk of everything, which I can't help feeling is a pity. It is much better to shut one's eyes to some things, don't you agree? But it has occurred to me - I thought it all over during the night - that whoever killed my brother may - may have done so from jealousy."
"Yes, that is a possibility," Hannasyde said.
"Yes. Of course, if it was so, it will have to come out. I quite realise that. But if you find it wasn't, or - or fail to discover the man who did it - do you think my brother's - private affairs - need be known?"
"Certainly not," Hannasyde replied. "I quite understand your feelings in the matter, Miss Fletcher, and I can assure you that I shall respect them as much as I possibly can."
"So kind!" she sighed. "I have such a dread of the papers printing horrid things about my poor brother - perhaps getting hold of letters. You know the sort of thing I mean, I expect."
"You need not be afraid of that," he assured her. "There are no such letters as you refer to."
"Oh, how thankful I am!" she breathed. "You have taken a load off my mind!"