She flushed to her temples. “I—I—thought,” she murmured, “that he might have known of our acquaintance, and have misconstrued: that he might have gone to find you, and attacked you, and that you killed him. In self-defense, I mean.”
“Thank you for that last, at least,” said Sedgwick rather bitterly. Then, as he saw her wince, “Forgive me!” he added in a low tone. “But, to be suspected by you, even though you were misled—” He stopped, catching Kent’s frowning glance.
“Who discovered that the burial was a false one?” she asked, after a pause.
“Professor Kent,” said Blair. “He and Mr. Sedgwick exhumed the coffin.”
“That was the night—” her eyes questioned Sedgwick.
“That I found you at Hedgerow House. Yes,” he said gently.
“And that my father-in-law charged you with being my husband’s murderer.”
“My dear Mrs. Blair!” said Kent uncomfortably. “Remember what justification he thought he had.”
She considered a moment. “You are right,” she said with an effort. “I don’t mean to be unjust.” Her head dropped in thought. “Whatever Wilfrid may have been,” she continued, after a moment’s silence, “he was my husband. I bear his name. And to leave him in a nameless grave is to dishonor not him alone, but myself.”
“You would claim the body?” cried Alexander Blair.