“It is not a cock-and-bull story. You may think so at first, but you will not when you know all. Dick was in a fearful state after the death—his agitation was unnatural. It points strongly to his guilt.”
“Not to those who know the man,” said Carroll.
“I should be more than thankful if anybody could clear him,” replied Mrs. Pelham, “but at present I think, nay, more, I am certain he is guilty.”
“You are overwrought, and no wonder,” said Carroll kindly. “Of course, I will look into this matter. You must leave it to me. Will you stay here while I interview Tarbot?”
“You will find him at his house in Harley Street. Yes, I will remain here until you return.”
“That is good. I will order the servants to bring you some refreshment. You must have something, it is necessary for you to husband your strength. I will be off at once now to Tarbot and then return to you.”
Carroll left the room. He was absent nearly an hour. At the end of that time he came back, and his face was very grave.
“I saw Tarbot,” he said, “and he has certainly confided a strange tale to me. I don’t even now believe in Dick’s guilt; but you are right, Mrs. Pelham—the circumstantial evidence is terribly strong. Have you quite made up your mind to prosecute?”
“I have. Can I allow the child’s death to be unavenged?”
“I have not a word to say if such is your wish. I will take you now to a solicitor whom I know.”