“I sympathize with you, but you must not jump at me in that fashion. One hypothesis is as wildly impossible as the other. I did not say that Lady Dyke went to Raleigh Mansions on account of some present or bygone transgression of her own. I would as soon think of my mother in such a connection. But a pure, good woman will often do on behalf of others what she will not do for herself. Really, Dyke, you must not be unjust to me, especially when you force me to tell you what may prove to be mere theories.”
“Others? What others?”
“I cannot say. I wish I could. If I once lay hold of the reason that brought Lady Dyke to Raleigh Mansions, I will, within twenty-four hours, tell you who murdered her. Of that I am as certain as that the sun will rise to-morrow.”
And the barrister poked the fire viciously to give vent to the annoyance that his friend’s outburst had provoked.
“Pardon me, Bruce. Do not forget how I have suffered—what I am suffering—and try to bear with me. I never valued my wife while she lived. It is only now that I feel the extent of my loss. If my own life would only restore her to me for an instant I would cheerfully give it.”
If ever man meant his words this man did. His agitation moved the kindly hearted barrister to rise and place a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“I am sorry, Dyke,” he said, “that the conversation has taken this turn. These speculative guesses at potential clues distress you. If you took my advice, you would not worry about events until at least something tangible turns up.”
“Perhaps it is best so,” murmured the other. “In any event, it is of little consequence. I cannot live long.”