“When do you anticipate these attempted revelations?” I asked calmly.
She was silent. The flames shot high in the grate, illuminating the great handsome apartment and were reflected in the many mirrors, while outside a neighbouring clock slowly struck six. The mansion seemed strangely quiet and dismal, now that its master, the Earl, had parted from his smart wife.
“Bethune will be tried for murder. Some awkward questions will then be asked,” she answered at last.
“Markwick is quite resolved, then,” I cried, starting up.
“Quite. I, too, have every reason to believe that Gilbert fell by Bethune’s hand.”
“Yet you have no proofs,” I observed.
“I did not say that Certain proofs will be forthcoming at the trial.”
“But I presume you are aware that Jack strenuously denies the allegation?”
“Of course. It is but natural. He fancies himself secure and is confident we dare not cause his arrest for fear he should make a revelation regarding a strange and startling incident that occurred recently. But he is quite mistaken. I intend to establish the fact that Gilbert was murdered, and further, that he fell by the hand of your friend.”
“And the reason for this, Mabel,” I exclaimed, bitterly; “the reason for this is because you have received information that the foolish youth executed a will under which, in the event of his death, you inherit three millions. This fact is already common gossip, although your name has not yet transpired in the newspapers. It is but natural that you should wish to prove his death, even though you may have loved him.”