‘Let it be so,’ said Sydney. ‘I am content. If hurt has come to Marjorie, God knows that I am willing enough that death should come to me.’
While they wrangled, I continued to search. A little to one side, under the flooring which was still intact, I saw something gleam. By stretching out my hand, I could just manage to reach it,—it was a long plait of woman’s hair. It had been cut off at the roots,—so close to the head in one place that the scalp itself had been cut, so that the hair was clotted with blood.
They were so occupied with each other that they took no notice of me. I had to call their attention to my discovery.
‘Gentlemen, I fear that I have here something which will distress you,—is not this Miss Lindon’s hair?’
They recognised it on the instant. Lessingham, snatching it from my hands, pressed it to his lips.
‘This is mine,—I shall at least have something.’ He spoke with a grimness which was a little startling. He held the silken tresses at arm’s length. ‘This points to murder,—foul, cruel, causeless murder. As I live, I will devote my all,—money, time, reputation!—to gaining vengeance on the wretch who did this deed.’
Atherton chimed in.
‘To that I say, Amen!’ He lifted his hand. ‘God is my witness!’
‘It seems to me, gentlemen, that we move too fast,—to my mind it does not by any means of necessity point to murder. On the contrary, I doubt if murder has been done. Indeed, I don’t mind owning that I have a theory of my own which points all the other way.’
Lessingham caught me by the sleeve.