“Oh, I must tell you!” she exclaimed. “Now that I have once spoken I must go on and tell all. Your brain is young and clear, and you may be able to think of a way out.”
“It won’t do any harm to talk it over, at all events,” I said, trying to speak comfortingly. But I felt appallingly young and helpless, and I wished with all my heart that Dr. Firth or Colin could be there.
“It is these robberies,” she said. “I had no peace before they took place—but since then I have been in torment. I ask myself ceaselessly—Who is the thief? And only one answer comes to me.”
Light flashed upon me.
“You don’t think—you surely don’t think—your brother . . . ?”
“I do not know what to think. Nothing like this has ever before occurred in our quiet neighbourhood. And stealing is nothing to him—we have had bitter proof of that. He needs money: I have raised all I can, to give him a fresh start when he gets away, but he grumbles at the amount and says it is not enough. Night after night he goes out, declaring that he must have fresh air and exercise, and I do not know where he goes. I have questioned him, but he only laughs at me. He knows his power over me—that I will not betray him—and he takes the fullest advantage of it.”
With all my heart I yearned for Colin to deal with Mr. Ronald Hull.
Mrs. McNab leaned forward, crushing her cigarette between her fingers.
“And the danger is immediate,” she said. “If any trail brings the police and the black trackers to The Towers or its neighbourhood, they may insist on searching the house. Even if Ronald denied it, I would not feel sure—he has lied so often. I do not know what to do.”
“You would not tell your son?”