“Our ill-luck seems to follow us, even now, my dear,” he observed, thrusting his hands deep into his empty pockets and lazily stretching out his legs. “That inquisitive old chap, the Coroner, was within an ace of raking up all the past. I was afraid they intended to adjourn again.”
“Why afraid?” asked Liane in surprise. “You surely do not fear anything?”
“Well, no, not exactly,” her father answered, with a quick glance at her. “But some facts might have been then elicited which are best kept secret.”
Liane looked at the Captain, long and steadily, with eyes full of sadness, then said, earnestly,—
“What caused you to suspect Zertho, father?”
“Suspect him. I never suspected him!”
“Do not deny the truth,” she answered, in a tone of mild reproach. “I know that before you went to London you sent him a message which, had he been guilty, would have allowed him time to escape.”
“But he was entirely unaware of the tragedy,” her father answered, rolling a cigarette with infinite care. “Zertho could have had no object in murdering Nelly. Besides, it had already been proved by the station-master that he had left by the train he saw him enter.”
“Then why did you take the trouble to go to London?” she inquired.
“My motive was a secret one,” he replied.