“I believe my father does.”
The man said nothing for a while, and then looked around again.
“Well,” he ventured, “it strikes me there’s one man Curtis ought to keep his eye on.”
Gertrude started and Wandle studied her face. He was observant and quick to draw a conclusion, and he read something that surprised him in her eyes. It was, he thought, a deeper feeling than suspicion; Miss Jernyngham knew whom he meant and had some reason for being very bitter against Prescott.
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
“All I’ve heard looks black against him,” he answered with an air of reflection. “What does your father think?”
“He is perplexed and distressed,” said Gertrude coldly, deciding that the man must not be allowed to go too far.
Wandle guessed her thoughts, but he was not to be daunted.
“That’s natural. He must be anxious to learn the truth, and the police haven’t found out much yet—looks as if they were getting tired.”
Gertrude hesitated, while he led the horses round a clump of birches. It was painful and undignified to discuss the matter with a stranger, but his manner was suggestive; she felt that he had something to tell. Perhaps it was her duty to encourage him, and her suspicions of Prescott drove her on. Wandle waited, knowing that she would speak.