“Well,” he said, “it has come to our knowledge that you have been relating a most extraordinary story regarding Ethelwynn’s father. You declare that he died under suspicious circumstances.”
“Whatever I’ve said is the truth—the plain and absolute truth,” I declared openly. “Mr Kirk introduced me into the house in Sussex Place, where I saw the poor Professor lying dead in his laboratory.”
“Ah!” cried the girl quickly, her manner suddenly changing. “Then you are a friend of Kirk’s—not of my father?”
“That is so,” I admitted. “And in Kirk’s company I saw your father lying dead through violence.”
“And you’ve dared to put forward this story as an absolute fact!” Langton cried. “Do you happen to know who Kershaw Kirk really is?”
“No; I’d very much like to know,” I said, full of anxiety. “Who is he?”
“If you knew, you would, I think, have hesitated before you went to the police with such a fairy tale as yours.”
“It is no fairy tale, Mr Langton!” I declared very earnestly. “I have with my own eyes seen the Professor lying dead.”
“But you forget that my father went to Edinburgh on that night, and wired me from there next day,” the girl pointed out, fixing her splendid eyes on mine with unwavering gaze.
“I forget no point of the remarkable affair, Miss Greer,” I said quietly. “As a matter of fact, I followed the man believed to be your father to Scotland.”