“Yes; her husband’s death will be a sad loss to her.”
“Oh, that is not what I am thinking of. Husbands are plenty enough for a woman with her money and beauty. It’s her connection with the affair that troubles me.”
“In what way?”
“Why, don’t you see, man? The law will demand an explanation, and perhaps a victim, and the law that can only see as far as the end of its nose will reason, ‘Here is a room securely locked up with two persons in it. One of these persons is found dead by a wound not self-inflicted. Inference, the other person must have done it.’”
“Good God! You don’t think they will dare to accuse her?”
“Think! It is no thinking matter. Sydney is saying nothing else. On the ferry-boat, as elsewhere, they were talking of nothing but that, and the wonder was why Mrs. Booth was not already arrested.”
“But this is monstrous! You know it’s monstrous, Mr. Gosper. The very shock of such a charge might endanger Bertha’s reason, or even her life!”
“That may be true; but how will you prevent it? What is your own private opinion on the mystery? Surely you have formed one?”
“No, I have not. What you term the popular verdict is, of course, out of the question with me, who know her so well; but I have thought out no theory yet that will fit the case. I can recall no incident, in fact or fiction, of this description. Poe’s History of the Rue Morgue is the nearest in point I can call to mind. But then there was an open window.”
“That was the story of an ourang-outang climbing a waterspout to an open window and throwing one woman out, pushing the other up a chimney, and then escaping, was it not?”