“If he did,” Blick went on, “why didn’t she divulge that fact at the inquest? If she knew it, why did she conceal it?”
“Aye—why?” muttered Mr. Fransemmery. “Why?”
“And if Guy Markenmore didn’t tell her—the woman he was going to marry!—why didn’t he?” said Blick. “Did he or didn’t he? It strikes me, sir, that there’s a good deal that’s of high importance in that!”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” agreed Mr. Fransemmery. “But then, between you and me, there’s a good deal else that I’ve wondered about ever since I heard Mrs. Tretheroe’s evidence!”
“What, for instance?” asked Blick.
“Nothing, in any particular instance,” replied Mr. Fransemmery. “I have wondered, generally, if Mrs. Tretheroe told all she might have told; if she was candid, open, ingenuous, truthful. Between ourselves, I think she’s a vain, selfish, silly woman—and as stupid as such a woman always is!”
“Stupidity of that sort is very often allied with a good deal of cunning, isn’t it, though?” suggested Blick. “She’s struck me—what bit I’ve seen of her—as the sort of woman who could play a game.”
“I shouldn’t wonder!” agreed Mr. Fransemmery.
“Then, the question for me is—is she playing any game now, and if so, what is it?” said Blick. “And has von Eckhardstein anything to do with it?”
“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Fransemmery. “That’s still another question!”