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“What maggot have you got in your head about this luckless girl?” asked the Prince, when he and his brother-in-law met at supper. They spoke English, as was usual when they were alone together.
“I presume that even you can see there’s something remarkably fishy about her. Why did she and friend Petros, after breathing such violent mutual hostility, fall like lambs into the same story, and back each other up?”
“Because it was true, I suppose. But I see. You think they were both in the plot, and that the hostility was only a blind?”
“And very badly carried out. What makes me certain is the girl’s denying that she comes from the islands. If ever I heard an island voice, it’s hers.”
“But her ancestors may have come from there.”
“But she has the type of face. Look here, we’ll ask Armitage when he comes. If he doesn’t say it is an island type——”
“Yes, but if he does, what does it prove?”
“That she and Petros are acquainted, and probably related, in spite of her strenuous denials.”
“I suppose you mean me to understand that she was an accomplice in the sister’s murder, and that we are helping her to fly from justice?”