Grant rang, and explained the situation to the maid that came. "I'll stay if you would like to go now," he said when the maid had gone, and she agreed.
Grant went to the window and stood looking out at the loch, so that, if she wanted to say anything to Lamont, the way was clear, and she began to collect her things. There was no sound of conversation, and, looking round, he saw that she was apparently quite absorbed in the task of leaving nothing behind her, and the man was watching her unblinkingly, his whole being waiting for the moment of her leave-taking. Grant turned back to the sea, and presently he heard her say, "Shall I see you again before you go?" There was no answer to that, and Grant turned round to find that she was addressing himself.
"Oh, yes, I hope so," he said. "I'll call at the manse if I don't see you otherwise — if I may."
"All right," she said, "then I needn't say goodbye just now." And she went out of the room with her bundle.
Grant glanced at his captive and looked away at once. It is indecent to pry too far into even a murderer's soul. When he looked back again, the man's eyes were closed and his face was a mask of such un-speakable misery that Grant was unexpectedly moved. He had cared for her, then — it had not been merely opportunism.
"Can I do anything for you, Lamont?" he asked presently.
The black eyes opened and considered him unseeingly. "I suppose it is too much to expect any one to believe that I didn't do it," he said at length.
"It is, rather," said Grant dryly.
"But I didn't, you know."
"No? Well, we hardly expected you to say you did."