The whole matter concerning Hugh puzzled her. She could not bring herself to a decision as to his innocence or his guilt.
As she sat writing in the morning-room, the maid announced that Mr. Shrimpton wished to see her.
She started at the name. It was the detective inspector from Scotland Yard who had called upon her on a previous occasion.
A few moments afterwards he was shown in, a tall figure in a rough tweed suit.
“I really must apologize, Miss Ranscomb, for disturbing you, but I have heard news of Mr. Henfrey. He has been in Marseilles. Have you heard from him?”
“Not a word,” the girl replied. “And, Mr. Shrimpton, I am growing very concerned. I really can’t think that he tried to kill the young Frenchwoman. Why should he?”
“Well, because she had connived at his father’s death. That seems to be proved.”
“Then your theory is that it was an act of vengeance?”
“Exactly, Miss Ranscomb. That is our opinion, and a warrant being out for his arrest both in France and in England, we are doing all we can to get him.”
“But are you certain?” asked the girl, much distressed. “After all, though on the face of things it seems that there is a distinct motive, I do not think that Hugh would be guilty of such a thing.”