“A rather horrible hobby,” she said, “but of course it is necessary. I hope you find out the criminal—and yet, I don’t know, in some ways I hope you don’t.”
“The murderer of your father,” he blurted out, scandalised at such sentiments.
“Oh, I know I ought to want him punished, and yet, the awful trial, the cold cell, and then the last horrible scene. I am afraid I am always on the side of the criminal. Of course, you think that’s dreadful.”
“I think it does more justice to your heart than to your head,” said he with a smile.
“English justice is such a cold, merciless thing. When I hear of people who come forward to what they call ‘further the ends of justice,’ I always think it is either for notoriety or for reward.”
He laughed.
“It’s a good thing everyone does not think as you do,” said he.
“I was taught as a child that vengeance belongs to God, not to man, and I believe it is a worse punishment to leave the criminal to his conscience than to punish him.”
“You say that because you have never come in contact with the real criminal,” said he. “He has no conscience.”
“I don’t believe that. I am sure I would always rather hide a fugitive from justice than give him up.”