“N‑no, but it was slightly—unconventional. The passage where Armitage happened upon the oratory was an admirable parallel to Mr. Bannerlee’s account in his diary, as I learned later. Yes, I came to be very glad indeed that I had stolen down at midnight to get the Book. . . . Now, people, I can’t go any further without telling you another secret about Mr. Bannerlee. He won’t forgive me for this, I’m afraid. But he’s not only a gentleman and a scholar”—I suppressed my indignation at this outrageous statement—“not only a discoverer of things so old that they are new—he is also an altruist!”
I bowed my head giddily under this monstrous charge, and heard her go on to say: “He is defending one of us, one, I think, whom he had never seen before!”
If dismay were a sign of guilt, there was not an innocent one among them. Their alarm testified, I think, to the fact that they had hoped, and hope begot belief, that the crime would be traced at last to someone outside the Vale. They had all been innocent to each other before; now to suppose the murderer sat among them was a shock as great as murder itself.
“Someone in this room?” whispered Crofts in a voice far different from his bullying voice.
“Someone at this table?” asked Eve Bartholomew.
“Someone at this table.”
Belvoir made a show of pulling himself together. “See here, Bannerlee, is this true?”
“That’s not a fair question, is it?” said the American girl. “Mr. Bannerlee cannot know how much I know about—”
I said, “Frankly, Miss Lebetwood, you are not being as direct as you promised to be. I am at a loss as to the ‘altruism’ you refer to. Tell us plainly what you mean, and perhaps I can be of some assistance. You are mistaken if you believe that I would shield anyone for a moment who had deliberate murder at his door.”
“That’s fair. Well, my trump-card is that I know who burned the evidence that incriminated one of us; no matter how I know. You burnt it, Mr. Bannerlee, you yourself.”