A guilty conscience, Darrell concluded, needs no accuser, and this man feels the finger of suspicion pointed at him, though he cannot tell from whom it comes.
Used to reading human nature, the detective knows guilt when he sees it.
Although he refrains from making any remark upon the subject, he is in reality quite out o£ patience with his friend who has thus early betrayed his trust—he could never have believed it of Joe Leslie—he ought to be ashamed of himself, doing anything to make such a sweet woman unhappy, and if it turns out to be so the detective is determined that he shall eat the husks of remorse, drinking the bitter cup to the very dregs.
“Let me keep these, Joe?” holding up the pictures and the scrap of paper.
“Certainly, and I most earnestly pray they may be the means of proving Lillian’s innocence. My life will be wrecked if she proves false.”
He did not seem to think of what a position his own secret action placed him in.
“We will hope for the best, Joe.”
“Whatever you discover must be a secret between myself and you. I shall in my own way decide what must be done.”
Darrell looked at his face while he spoke. He found nothing vindictive there—instead, he saw a look of deep pain.
To himself he thought: