"When did you last see Coverly?"
Isobel raised her head wearily.
"Last night, and he seemed to think that some one was following him—a detective."
I noticed that Isobel spoke of Eric Coverly with a certain manner of restraint for which I could not account. Yet perhaps it was only natural that she should do so, but at the time I was foolishly blind to the opposing emotions which fought and conflicted within her.
"He still refused to explain his movements on the night of the murder?" I asked.
"Yes, he persisted in his extraordinary silence," said Isobel.
The look of trouble in her eyes grew more acute.
"What I cannot understand is a sort of attitude of resentment which he has lately adopted."
"Of resentment? Towards whom?"
"Towards me."