“None.”
“Then leave matters where they are at present.”
“But why,” put in Sir Charles. “Is it not better to end all inquiries, at least so far as my wife is concerned? It is her desire, and, I may add, my own, now that I know something of her fate.”
“Of course, if you wish it, Dyke, I have no valid objection.”
“Oh, no, no. Do not look at it in that way. I leave the ultimate decision entirely to you.”
“In that case, I recommend complete silence in all quarters at present.”
The detective left them, and as he passed out into Victoria Street his philosophy could find but one comprehensive dictum. “This is a rum go,” he muttered, unconsciously plagiarizing himself on many previous occasions.
The baronet sat down, and meditatively chewed the handle of his umbrella.
“What is this nonsense Mensmore’s sister talked about being responsible for my wife’s death?” he said.
“I do not pretend to understand,” answered Bruce. “Little more than a week ago she learned for the first time of your wife’s supposed murder. Of that I am quite positive. She feared that her brother was implicated, and, without trusting me with the reasons for her belief, took the measures she thought best to safeguard him.”