“Well, that is the be-all and end-all of Miss Martin’s presence. It would be cruel, and unfair, if a girl of her age were forced into a distasteful prominence in connection with a crime with which she is no more related than with Sirius itself.”
The older man shook his head in regretful dissent.
“That is just where you and I differ,” he said. “That very point leads us back to your past friendship with the dead woman.”
“Why?”
“Surely you see, Mr. Grant, that Miss Melhuish might be, probably was, watching your star-gazing, especially as your pupil chanced to be, shall I say, a remarkably attractive young lady ... No, no,” for Grant’s anger was unmistakable—“It does no good to blaze out in protest. An unhappy combination of circumstances must be faced candidly. Here are you and a pretty girl together in a garden at a rather late hour, and a woman whom you once wanted to marry spying on you, in all likelihood. I’ve met a few coroner’s juries in my time, and not one of them but would deem the coincidence strange, to put it mildly.”
“What in Heaven’s name are you driving at?”
“You must not impute motives, sir. I am seeking them, not supplying them.”
“But what am I to say?”
“Perhaps you will now tell me just how Miss Melhuish and you parted.”
The fencers were coming to close quarters. Even P. C. Robinson had to admit that his “boss” had cornered the suspect rather cleverly.