CHAPTER XII ALONE
“Roger has been arrested for the murder of Lady Rawson.”
The words repeated themselves over and over in Grace Carling’s brain with maddening persistence, as she sat perfectly still and silent, her hands grasping the arms of the chair, her lips firmly set, her eyes gazing straight in front of her. But for those wide, tragic eyes she might have been a stone figure.
She could never afterwards clearly remember what happened in that brief half-hour—possibly less—before Roger was taken away, and she was left alone.
She had made no scene—that at least was something for which to be thankful; though when the detective said he wanted to speak to her husband alone, some strong instinct had forbidden her to go, and she had moved to Roger’s side, saying quite quietly:
“I don’t think you can have anything to say to my husband that I may not hear”; and, after a moment’s hesitation, Roger said:
“My wife is quite right; I have no secrets from her. What is your business with me?”
And then—and then—the shock came, or rather was intensified, for when she first saw these two men of ill-omen a strange, swift premonition told her what their errand was.
So when Snell—more embarrassed than he had ever before felt in the execution of his duty, and most anxious to get the difficult business over—bluntly pronounced his formula, and added the customary caution as to any statement made by his prisoner being liable to be used as evidence against him, she was scarcely conscious of surprise, only of intense indignation.