Then, linking my arm in hers, I walked on, and commencing at the beginning told her of that fateful day when I discovered the tragic death of poor Roddy, and the circumstances which, combined with Aline’s own confession, seemed to point to her being his visitor, immediately prior to his death.
As she listened her face grew ashen, and she perceptibly trembled. A violent emotion shook her slight frame, and as I continued to relate my dismal story and piece together the evidence which I felt certain must some day connect Aline with the tragedy, I was dumbfounded to discern that which, in a single instant, changed the whole aspect of the situation.
Muriel was speechless. She was trembling with fear.
“And you really suspect that your friend was murdered?” she exclaimed at last in the voice of one preoccupied. “If that had been really so, wouldn’t the doctors have known?”
“Medical evidence is not always reliable,” I answered. “From what I have already explained it is proved conclusively that some one visited him in his valet’s absence.”
“Who called there, do you think?”
“Ah! I don’t know,” I answered. “That is what I am endeavouring to discover.”
She gave a slight, almost imperceptible sigh. It was a sigh of relief!
Could it be true that my little friend held locked within her breast the secret of Roddy’s tragic end? I glanced again at her face as she strolled by my side. Yes, her countenance was now pale and agitated, its aspect entirely changed from what it had been half an hour before.
“Why cannot you tell me something of Aline?” I asked quietly, after a long silence.