Fayre moved to the door. Half-way he stopped as though he had been shot.
“Good God, Edward!” he cried. “Sybil! You can’t leave her without a word!”
Kean straightened his shoulders with a jerk, as though he were bracing himself to face something he was seeing clearly for the first time.
“Sybil died about an hour before I telephoned to you this evening,” he said slowly.
Chapter XXVI
Afterwards, in bitter anguish and remorse, Fayre cursed himself for his blindness. At first he had been deceived by Kean’s attitude of cold detachment towards the whole gruesome business and the impression he had managed to convey that he had definitely decided on flight. Later, the news of Sybil Kean’s death had stunned him and he had gone blindly on his errand to Cynthia, dazed with grief and consternation. But he could not forgive himself for not having insisted on staying by his friend in his extremity.
Instead, he had carried out Kean’s instructions to the letter, had found Cynthia still up and had interviewed her in the rather dreary little room that had been her uncle’s study.
He had sent a message by the servant, asking to see her alone, and she came to him, curiosity and apprehension in her eyes.
John Leslie was never out of her mind in these days and, though it would seem that the worst had happened, she lived in hourly dread of some further attack on her fortitude.
“Have you come from John?” she asked piteously. “When will they let me see him?”