“Of a certainty, monsieur,” she said, with charming grace. “Cela m’est egal,” and walked away with a step remarkably light and remarkably graceful for one of such weight and generous dimensions.
“Miss Renfrew,” said Cleek, sinking his voice and looking her straight in the eyes, as soon as Mrs. Armroyd had left them, “Miss Renfrew, tell me something please: Have you any suspicion regarding the identity or the purpose of the person who murdered your uncle?”
“Not in the slightest, Mr. Headland. Of course, in the beginning, my thoughts flew at once to Sir Ralph Droger, but I now see how absurd it is to think that such as he——”
“I am not even hinting at Sir Ralph Droger,” interposed Cleek. “Two other people in the world have a ‘motive’ quite as strong as any that might be assigned to him. You, of course, feel every confidence in the honour and integrity of Mr. Charles Drummond?”
“Mr. Headland!”
“Gently, gently, please! I merely wished to know if in your heart you had any secret doubt; and your flaring up like that has answered me. You see, one has to remember that the late Mr. Nosworth is said to have made a will in your favour. The statement is correct, is it not?”
“To the best of my belief—yes.”
“Filed it with his solicitors, did he?”
“That I can’t say. I think not, however. He was always sufficient unto himself, and had a rooted objection to trusting anything of value to the care of any man living. Even his most important documents—plans and formulas of his various inventions, even the very lease of this property—have always been kept in the desk in the laboratory.”
“Hum-m-m!” said Cleek, and pinched his chin hard. Then, after a moment. “One last question,” he went on suddenly. “What do you know, Miss Renfrew, of the recent movements of Mr. Harry Nosworth—the son who was kicked out?”