“Yes; something of that kind. But even, as is sometimes maintained, if Fiction is only a prelude to Fact, the barred and fastened window in this case close that explanation.”
“Well, if you must go,” said Huey, for the Professor was rising, “remember to send for me at any time, if I can help either you or Mrs. Booth.”
Not admitting it even to himself, a dreadful fear had pricked the heart of the Professor. That Bertha could do such a deed was impossible, and yet women were strange creatures. Who could pretend to have sounded to the innermost depths of even one? And he would stake his life yes, his life—on her innocence. But even if it was so, and he braced his mind to face that awful contingency, he would not desert her. “A moment of passion—who is accountable for it? And, say what you will, that Alec was little better than a brute. It was in one sense a good riddance.” At all hazards he would stick to her, and, above all, if she was accused he would fight her battle. It is not the innocent who want friends; it is the guilty. And, guilty or innocent, he would stand by her.
So the thoughts chased through his mind as the ferry-boat crossed Sydney Harbour in the moonlight of a bright summer’s night. He did not heed the scene, familiar to him, of the grey indented shore, dotted with white house fronts and clothed with sombre foliage, or the jutting headlands, softening their dark outlines till in the distant background South Head was a soft grey that melted into the sky, and its turning light shone on the lapping water like a radiance. He did not heed the mirrored lights of Sydney Cove, or the small craft that, with half-drawn sail, drifted like shadows on the shining water. He did not heed the talk of the crowded boat, nor, passing M‘Mahon’s Point wharf, did he hear a scream, as from a distance, and a rush of eager feet to the stern of the vessel.
CHAPTER V
CONSTABLE HOBBS DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF
Constable Hobbs, on duty outside Mrs. Delfosse’s, had for a long time nothing to break the monotony of his watch. He allowed the Professor to pass, knowing him well. Mr. Gosper puzzled him. He concluded at once he was not a resident of the Shore; he certainly did not know him as such, yet he had a kind of inward conviction he had seen him before, but where, he could not call to mind. But the thought did not trouble him. He met, every day, people he had met before, without being able, or caring for that matter, to locate the time and place.
It had been some time dark when the meditations of a quiet smoke were interrupted by the opening of the front door, and the coming out of a lady.
“It is her; what the dickens is she up to!”
It was indeed Bertha. Bertha, hysterical, nearly mad. To be in the house was no longer endurable, she was stifled, choked. The suggestion of Huey had grown in her mind till her reason seemed to forsake her. A hundred fancies that she could not brush aside rose up as threatening witnesses.
“The Professor had always wanted to marry her, that was certain; so who but he could desire the death of Alec? Who but he could control her will, unknown to her? He must have made her open the door.”