“To me?”
“No, not to you.”
“To whom, then?”
“To the police. Winter, the Scotland Yard man who had charge of the business, is an old friend of mine.”
“What restrained you?”
“Pity, and perhaps doubt. I could see no reason why you should kill your cousin.”
“But you believed me guilty?”
The barrister looked his questioner straight in the eyes. He saw there the glistening terror of a tortured soul. Somehow he expected to find a different expression. He was puzzled.
“Why have you come here, Mr. Hume?” he abruptly demanded.
“To implore your assistance. They tell me you are the one man in the world able to clear my name from the stain of crime. Will you do it?”