Detective Dobell began to feel uneasy. It was contrary to all his experience that a murderess, such as Mrs. Booth appeared to be, should, up to the commission of the crime, have led a blameless life. He had taken it for granted that inquiry would have shown the hidden motive for the deed. Motive there must have been. For no one, not a lunatic, would commit a crime of this nature without reason. And Dobell felt that the evidence, though strong, was not strong enough. The robbery at the office was, to say the least, a curious coincidence, but by no possible means could he connect Mrs. Booth with it; and that left a loophole for doubt. She had ample funds also at her own disposal, as was proved by the bank account that Mr. Booth on his marriage had opened for her.
Dobell was troubled; he felt his reputation in some sense at stake. He was at fault, and he had felt so sure.
The Professor was surprised at the comparative calm with which Bertha endured her imprisonment. After the first shock, the first horror, her outward demeanour became quiet, almost confident. It is true her lawyer had bade her be of good heart, that the evidence, so far as known and unsupported, was, at best, only one of strong suspicion, and what no jury would convict on. But prisoners’ lawyers are professedly sanguine, and the Professor hardly expected such consolation to have so influenced Bertha’s emotional nature.
“Is there anything new, Pro?” Bertha inquired one morning, when the Professor made his usual morning visit.
“No, my dear; nothing. No clue, no trace can be found. What are these heaps of letters about that you have been looking at?”
Bertha had nearly the old smile on her face as she replied—
“Offers of marriage, Pro! The Golden Bar was bad enough. I used to get some sort of a proposal at least once a week; but here in Darlinghurst I am fairly deluged. Every man in the colony seems to want to marry me! Just look at some of their letters. Some of them don’t even pretend they think me innocent? I suppose if one of these men should be on the jury it will be ‘Hang or Marry!’ Really it is horrible! What can they take me for? One husband hardly cold from a dreadful death, and they insult me with their infamous propositions. Do you know, Pro, if it was not for the hope that one of these letters might have some reference to the crime and the author of it I would not open another.”
“You are hopeful, then, Bertha?”
“For myself I am not troubled a bit. I am even surprised at myself. I seem to be a looker-on, as one looks at a play, and the whole thing a dream. I pinch myself at times; I cannot be sure I am awake. And then I have a kind of certainty that in some way the truth will come out. I was thinking only last night that there is a man who could help us if he would. Will you go to him?”
“Who is he?”