"Do you think that my husband killed that man?"
"To be frank with you, I think it extremely possible that he knows as much of the business as may altogether be good for him--more, for instance, than you or I. I have been reproaching myself for having done as you requested, and not having at least alluded to the gentleman in question when giving my evidence before the coroner."
My words set her trembling.
"You did quite right. You would have been sorry for it afterwards. I cannot tell you why or how, but I am certain that my husband had no more to do with that deed of blood than you or I."
The woman's intense earnestness made me stare.
"I can only say, Mrs. Barnes, that I regret that I am unable to share your certainty."
"That is one reason why I ask you--why I implore you to stay. There is a cloud hanging over you and over me--it is the same cloud! If you stay I feel that it may be lifted; but, if you leave, it may rest on us for ever."
What she said was nonsense pure and simple. Still, I suffered myself to be persuaded. I agreed to stay on--at any rate, for a time. The satisfaction with which she received my decision was so pronounced that one might have thought that I had done her the greatest service in the world.
I went out in the afternoon. When I came back in the evening, not a little to my surprise, my food was brought me by a man. I stared at him askance. Hitherto the whole service of the house, in which I had been the only guest, had been done by the maid. Now I found myself confronted by a quite irreproachable-looking waiter, attired in the orthodox costume of his kind. His presence was so unexpected that I found it impossible to conceal my astonishment.
"Who the deuce are you?" I blurted out.