“This particular medicine would affect the heart strongly, and the disease which was mentioned in the death certificate would to all appearance occur. It was a clever scheme. Barbara, circumstantial evidence is heavy against your husband.”
“I know now what something Dick said in his letter means,” cried Barbara. “‘The machinations of the wicked.’ I know what that expression means now.”
“They are going to exhume the little body,” continued Mrs. Pelham, who was now crying bitterly. “They are going down to Pelham Towers, and they will open the little coffin, and the doctor employed by the Crown—for, of course, the Crown prosecutes in a case like this—will exhume the child’s little body. Even in his grave my darling must not rest in peace. They will have to do so in order to prove whether the child really swallowed the poison or not.”
“Who has told you all this?” asked Barbara. She began to tie the strings of her cloak with trembling fingers.
“Luke Tarbot, of course. Where are you going, dear? I feel so bitterly for you. I know that you at least are perfectly innocent.”
“I wonder you think so,” said Barbara. “I would almost rather you did not. If Dick could be guilty of such a monstrous crime, why should not I connive at it? Oh, this is too fearful! I am going away, Mrs. Pelham.”
“Where to?”
“It does not matter to you, for you are Dick’s enemy—Dick, who loved you! But stay, Dick himself had suspicions. He suspected Dr. Tarbot.”
“That is one of the strong cases against him, Barbara. His causeless suspicions, his restlessness, his acute misery after the death of the child, have been strongly commented on, and will prove a powerful lever against him. What earthly motive would Dr. Tarbot have in injuring the child?”
“Ah, that I have to find out,” said Barbara. “Well, good-by. I am thankful I came up to town. My Dick! Yes, the accusation is too monstrous. Good-by.”