“I think I can,” said Godfrey, who dreaded another explanation. “It will be time enough, however, for me to explain later on. It is sufficient at present to say that a terrible murder has been committed in London, and that the assassin, knowing that I had endeavoured to be a good friend to his victim, has played a ghastly practical joke upon me. As you may suppose, the circumstance has upset me terribly; and when I tell you that you will make me happier if you will spare me further conversation upon the subject for the present, I am sure you will do so.”
“I think it would be better,” said Sir Vivian. “We have placed the matter in the hands of the police, and I am sure that Griffin will do all that lies in his power to prevent Godfrey from being unduly worried by the affair.”
Godfrey felt a small hand steal into his.
“I am so sorry for you,” whispered Molly.
The touch of her soft warm hand was infinitely soothing to him. It did him more good than any amount of verbal sympathy.
“But where is Mr. Fensden?” inquired Mrs. Henderson.
“The shock has proved too much for him,” Sir Vivian explained. “He informed Godfrey that he would prefer to go to his room to rest for a while. I have never met your friend before, Godfrey, but I should say that he is not very strong.”
“I am afraid he is not,” the other replied, and the subject dropped.
A quarter of an hour later Sir Vivian announced his intention of returning home, and when his carriage had come round, took Godfrey on one side.
“Keep up a stout heart, my boy,” he said. “The man who committed the crime will certainly be captured before very long, and then the poor girl will be avenged.”