He was disappointed, and fell silent. Nothing new here, except, of course, the brother. And of this business of Brother James he did not yet know what to think.
With this silence, Lucia’s cloak of impassivity left her. ‘What shall we do?’ she whispered. “What shall we do? They’ll find out that Jimmy—they’ll find out. I know they will, I——”
“The police know nothing about your brother, Mrs. Lemesurier.” Anthony’s tone was soothing. “And if they did, they wouldn’t worry their heads about him. You see, they’ve found a man they’re sure is the murderer. There’s quite a good prima facie case against him, too.”
Relief flooded her face with colour. For a moment she lay relaxed in her chair; then suddenly sat bolt upright again, her hands clutching at its arms.
“But—but if they’re accusing some one else, they—we must tell them about—about—Jimmy.” Her face was white, dead white, again.
“You go too fast, you know,” said Anthony.
“Don’t you think we’d better find out a few people who didn’t do it before we unburden ourselves to the Law?”
She laid eager hands on his arm. “You mean—you think Jim didn’t—didn’t do it?”
Anthony nodded. “More prejudice, you see. And I know the man the bobbies have got hold of had nothing to do with it either. Again prejudice. Bias, lady, bias! There’s nothing like it to clear the head, nothing! Now, have you a telephone?”
“Yes, yes,” she said eagerly. Hope, trust and other emotions showed in the velvet darkness of her eyes.