“Who told you so?” she inquired, looking at me with considerable suspicion.
“I took possession of his papers. They explained everything,” I replied simply. “And now,” I added, “the reason I am here is to inquire if I can assist you in any way, and to repeat my readiness to do so.”
“No,” she answered, shaking her head sadly. “No assistance that you could render me, Mr Leaf, would, I regret to say, be of any avail,” and I saw tears welling in her eyes.
“But you must not give up like this,” I urged. “You must endeavour to shield yourself, even if you fail, after all. The man is dead; his mouth is closed.”
“Ah, yes. That is just it. If he lived he might, perhaps, have had compassion upon me.”
“He refused to tell the truth—that you were at his villa at Tivoli on that evening, and therefore could not have been in Rome, eh?”
She halted, glaring at me open-mouthed. She saw that I knew the truth, and after a few moments’ silence with her eyes fixed upon mine, she exclaimed in a low, hoarse voice:—
“He preserved silence because he dared not tell the truth. He was a cur and a coward.”
“And also a thief, it would seem,” I added.
“Yes—you have seen what the papers are saying about him, I suppose? The police are searching for him all over Europe. They have no idea that he is already dead and buried.”