And sighing her eyes fell upon the carpet.
“But you will be able to clear yourself of this charge against you, Miss Miller—you must—you will. If the brute refused to clear you, then you must find other means. Why did he refuse? What had he to gain by refusing?”
“Everything,” was her low, hoarse answer. “If he had spoken the truth and cleared me then a terrible vengeance would have fallen upon him. But death overtook him instead.”
I wondered whether I should tell her of the commission he had entrusted to me, but decided that, for the present, I would say nothing.
“Are you returning at once to Italy?” I inquired presently, for our mutual connection with the dead man had aroused my curiosity concerning her. I longed to know who she was, and who was the man who lay in that darkened upstairs room.
“I hardly know what my future movements are to be,” she replied. “I came post-haste to London to face him and to compel him to speak and clear me of the foul imputation against me. Now that all is in vain—now that the future holds no hope for me—I don’t know what I shall do.”
“You have friends in England, of course?”
“I have an aunt living in the country. Perhaps I shall go to her. I must first hear what my father counsels, now that our enemy is dead.” Then after a pause she raised her eyes to mine and added: “I think you are acquainted with a certain lady named Hardwick, are you not?”
I started. She seemed to be aware of all my private affairs. It was extraordinary. Surely these people had not spied upon me?
“I knew a lady of that name some time ago.”