“I do not choose,” she said quietly, looking, not at Bruce or the detective, but at her brother.
For a little while no one spoke. Mensmore at last broke out eagerly:
“Don’t act absurdly, Gwen. I cannot even guess where all this talk about the furniture is leading us, but I do know that you are as innocent of any complicity in Lady Dyke’s death as I am, so it is better for you to help forward the inquiry than to retard it.”
“I am not innocent,” said Mrs. Hillmer, her words falling with painful distinctness upon the ears of the three men. “Heaven help me! I am responsible for it!”
Her brother started to his feet, and caught her by the shoulder.
“What folly is this,” he cried. “Do you know what you are saying?”
“Fully. My words are like sledge-hammers. I will forever feel their weight. I tell you I am responsible for the death of Lady Dyke.”
“Then how did she die, Mrs. Hillmer?” said Bruce, whose glance sought to read her soul.
“I do not know. I do not want to know. It matters little to me.”