Curtis murmured something inaudible. Alleyn said: “That will be done.”
“Tell them to cover it with something heavy and thick. Close down his eyes. The eyes of the dead can see where the eyes of the living are blind. That is established, else how could they find their way, as they sometimes do, into strange houses?”
Mr. Fox wrote in his note-book; the nurse looked significantly towards Dr. Kantripp. Tinkerton, over her mistress’ shoulder, executed a little series of nods and grimaces and shakes of the head. Alleyn and Lady Wutherwood stared into each other’s faces.
“That is all,” said Lady Wutherwood, “but for one thing. It must be understood that I will not be touched or persecuted or followed. I warn you that there is a great peril in wait for anybody who intercepts me. I have a friend who guards me well. A very powerful friend. That is all.”
“Not quite,” said Alleyn. “Lady Wutherwood, if you had not asked for this interview I should have done so. You see, the circumstances of your husband’s death have obliged me to make very close inquiries.”
Without changing her posture or the fixed blankness of her gaze, she said: “You had better be careful. You are in danger.”
“I,” murmured Alleyn. “How should I be in danger?”
“My husband died because he offended against one greater than himself. I have not been told by whose agency he died. But I know the force that killed him.”
“What force is that?”
The corners of the shifting mouth moved up. Small wrinkles appeared about her eyes. Her face became a mask of an unlovely Comedy. She did not answer Alleyn’s question.