"My God, Mathilda, can't you see the truth? Are you fooled too?" he asked incredulously.
"I don't like Joe," she confessed. "He means well, but he's an ass."
"He is not an ass, and he doesn't mean well. You think he likes me, don't you? Well, I tell you that Joe hates me as much as I hate him!"
"Stephen!" she exclaimed.
He laughed. "Think I'm brutal to Joe, don't you, Mathilda? When he tries to paw me about, and mouths his sickening platitudes, and drips affection all over me! You don't see that Joe's out to do me down. He nearly managed it, too."
"But he's always trying to convince everyone that you couldn't have killed Nat!"
"Oh no, Mathilda! Oh no, my love! That's only the facade. Think it over! Think of all that Joseph's said in my defence, and ask yourself if it was helpful, or if it only served to make the police think that he was desperately trying to shield a man whom he knew to be guilty. Who do you think planted my cigarette-case in Uncle Nat's room? Have you any doubt? I haven't."
Her fingers tightened on his. "Stephen, are you sure you're not letting your dislike of Joe run away with you?"
"I'm quite sure. Joe was my enemy from the moment he set foot in this house, and discovered that I was Uncle Nat's blue-eyed boy. I was, you know."
"But you quarrelled with Nat! Always, Stephen!"