“Your daughter’s death has been made the pretext for inflicting serious injury on a person who is very dear to me. Two men have been concerned, to my certain knowledge, in doing that wrong. One of them is Sir Percival Glyde.”
“Indeed!”
I looked attentively to see if she flinched at the sudden mention of that name. Not a muscle of her stirred—the hard, defiant, implacable stare in her eyes never wavered for an instant.
“You may wonder,” I went on, “how the event of your daughter’s death can have been made the means of inflicting injury on another person.”
“No,” said Mrs. Catherick; “I don’t wonder at all. This appears to be your affair. You are interested in my affairs. I am not interested in yours.”
“You may ask, then,” I persisted, “why I mention the matter in your presence.”
“Yes, I do ask that.”
“I mention it because I am determined to bring Sir Percival Glyde to account for the wickedness he has committed.”
“What have I to do with your determination?”
“You shall hear. There are certain events in Sir Percival’s past life which it is necessary for my purpose to be fully acquainted with. You know them—and for that reason I come to you.”