“Then why refer to it?”
“Because the mystery has never been solved,” she said, in a tone which surprised him.
“Where the police have failed we can scarcely hope to be successful,” he observed. Yet the harsh, strained voice in which she had spoken puzzled him. More than once it had occurred to him that Liane had never satisfactorily explained where she had been on that well-remembered evening, yet, loving her so well, he had always dismissed any suspicion as wild and utterly unfounded. Nevertheless, her statements to several persons regarding her actions on that evening had varied considerably, and he could not conceal the truth from himself that for a reason unaccountable she had successfully hidden some matter which might be of greatest importance.
“Do you think the truth will ever come out?” she inquired, her eyes still downcast.
“It may,” he answered, watching her narrowly. “The unexpected often happens.”
“Of course,” she agreed, with a faint smile. “But the police have obtained no further clue, have they?” she asked in eagerness.
“Not that I’m aware of,” he answered briefly, and a silence fell between them. “Liane,” he said at last, turning towards her with a calm, serious look, “I somehow cannot help doubting that you are acting altogether straightforward towards me.”
“Straightforward?” she echoed, glancing at him with a look half of suspicion, half of surprise. “I don’t understand you.”
“I mean that you refuse to tell me the reason you are bound to marry this man you hate,” he blurted forth. “You are concealing the truth.”
“Only because I am forced to do so,” she answered mechanically. “Ah, you do not know all, George, or you would not upbraid me,” she added brokenly.