“That’s the worst of it. He is absolutely convinced that his wife was murdered by Roger, and is implacable against him. That’s not to be wondered at, with the poor thing still lying dead in that great, silent house. The funeral is to-morrow, and as I can’t go to both, I shall go there instead of to the court to hear the case opened against Roger.”
“Oh, Austin, why? It would be a comfort to him and to Grace too, to have you there!”
“Yes, but I’ve a queer sort of feeling that at the funeral I may get some clue that would be of value. I can’t explain it, but there it is. And anyhow the case will surely be adjourned to-morrow. They can’t do anything else. It was terrible to see Sir Robert to-day. He is making a wonderful recovery physically, and was sitting up in a wheel-chair, though he’s paralysed in the lower limbs, and I doubt if he’ll ever walk again. But his brain is clear enough, and his animus against Roger is simply awful. The queer thing is that he acknowledges that those papers were of such supreme importance that—well honestly, I gathered the impression that if anyone but his own wife had been murdered in order to recover them he’d have considered the crime justifiable and tried to hush it up. The things we’re most up against are that Roger undoubtedly was there on the scene, and that he was the one person concerned who knew the contents of the papers and was most interested in getting them back to Sir Robert. You and I, and poor Mrs. Carling herself, are certain he did not commit the murder—just because we know him. But the question is—Who did?”
“It’s curious that the maestro should be mixed up in it,” mused Winnie.
“Have you seen him since?”
“No, there was no reason why I should.”
“I have, and Boris Melikoff too—this afternoon. I remembered him—Melikoff—when I saw him again. I met him here some months back, in the summer.”
She nodded.
“That Sunday night, when he sang so divinely. It’s the only time I’ve seen him. A handsome boy, but there’s something queer and unbalanced about him, though I believe the maestro cares for him more than for anyone else alive. Grace was here that night, too—not Roger; it was when he was abroad with the Rawsons. Why, Austin, could it have been him, Melikoff—in jealousy? I could imagine him doing anything!”
Starr shook his head.