“And if you said a word to them, Signor Benton, then you would implicate yourself,” the old man growled. Seeing hostility in the Englishman’s attitude he instantly resented it.
“Probably. But as I have no intention of giving you away, my dear Giulio, I do not think we need discuss it. What I am anxious to do is to establish the guilt—or the innocence—of Hugh Henfrey,” he went on.
“No doubt. You have reason for establishing his guilt—eh?”
“No. Reasons for establishing his innocence.”
“For your own ends, Signor Benton,” was the shrewd old man’s reply.
“At one time there was a suspicion that you yourself had fired at Mademoiselle.”
“What!” gasped the old man, his countenance changing instantly. “Who says that?” he asked angrily.
“The police were suspicious, I believe. And as far as I can gather they are not yet altogether satisfied.”
“Ah!” growled the old Italian in a changed voice. “They will have to prove it!”
“Well, they declare that the shot was fired by either one or the other of you,” Benton said, much surprised at the curious effect the allegation had upon the old fellow.