Then he paused. In that moment I made a sudden resolve; I asked him whether he had read in the newspapers the account of the Whitton tragedy.
“I read every word of it,” he responded—“a most interesting affair. I was not well at the time, otherwise I dare say I might have gone down there.”
“Yes,” I said, “from our point of view it is intensely interesting, the more so because of one fact, namely, that her ladyship was among the visitors when the Colonel was so mysteriously assassinated.”
“At Whitton!” he exclaimed, bending forward. “Was she at Whitton?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“And her cousin, Miss Wynd?”
“Of that I am not quite sure. All I know is that she was there on the afternoon previous to the tragedy. Sir Henry’s wife is Mrs Chetwode’s bosom friend.”
The old fellow grunted, closed his eyes, and puffed contentedly at his pipe.
“In that case,” he observed at last, “her ladyship may know something about that affair. Is that your suspicion?”
“Well, yes; to tell the truth, that is my opinion.”