If ever guilt were written upon a man’s face, it assuredly was written upon that of Kershaw Kirk at that moment.
Chapter Five.
Certain Suspicions Strengthened.
To Mabel, my wife, I said nothing. In the circumstances, I deemed silence golden.
Kirk’s attitude at the telephone had filled me with suspicion.
During the hours I spent in bed before the dawn I lay thinking. The problem was utterly inexplicable, the more so now that the dead man’s daughter was also dead.
I was convinced, as I lay there in the darkness, that there was something very suspicious in the fact that Kirk, who seemed to rule the household, would not allow the police to have any knowledge of what had occurred. Indeed, my own position was somewhat unenviable, for, being aware that a murder had been committed, was I not legally bound to give information? Was I not liable to prosecution if I failed to do so?
The mystery surrounding Kershaw Kirk had increased rather than diminished in that final quarter of an hour I had spent with him as he had sat staring straight into the fire, uttering scarce a word.