Mr. Troy answered quietly and firmly, on his side. “I am surprised that your Ladyship should ask the question,” he said.
“I persist in repeating the question,” Lady Lydiard rejoined. “I say that Isabel Miller knew of the inclosure in my letter—and I ask, What of that?”
“And I answer,” retorted the impenetrable lawyer, “that the suspicion of theft rests on your Ladyship’s adopted daughter, and on nobody else.”
“It’s false!” cried Robert, with a burst of honest indignation. “I wish to God I had never said a word to you about the loss of the bank-note! Oh, my Lady! my Lady! don’t let him distress you! What does he know about it?”
“Hush!” said Lady Lydiard. “Control yourself, and hear what he has to say.” She rested her hand on Moody’s shoulder, partly to encourage him, partly to support herself; and, fixing her eyes again on Mr. Troy, repeated his last words, “‘Suspicion rests on my adopted daughter, and on nobody else.’ Why on nobody else?”
“Is your Ladyship prepared to suspect the Rector of St. Anne’s of embezzlement, or your own relatives and equals of theft?” Mr. Troy asked. “Does a shadow of doubt rest on the servants? Not if Mr. Moody’s evidence is to be believed. Who, to our own certain knowledge, had access to the letter while it was unsealed? Who was alone in the room with it? And who knew of the inclosure in it? I leave the answer to your Ladyship.”
“Isabel Miller is as incapable of an act of theft as I am. There is my answer, Mr. Troy.”
The lawyer bowed resignedly, and advanced to the door.
“Am I to take your Ladyship’s generous assertion as finally disposing of the question of the lost bank-note?” he inquired.
Lady Lydiard met the challenge without shrinking from it.