“At present he will tell me nothing,” I replied.
Sir Bernard gave vent to an exclamation of dissatisfaction, observing that he hoped Jevons’ efforts would meet with success, as it was scandalous that a double tragedy of that character could occur in a civilized community without the truth being revealed and the assassin arrested.
“There’s no doubt that the tragedy was a double one,” I observed. “Although the jury have returned a verdict of ‘Found Drowned’ in the widow’s case, the facts, even as far as at present known, point undoubtedly to murder.”
“To murder!” he cried. “Then is it believed that she’s been wilfully drowned?”
“That is the local surmise.”
“Why?” he asked, with an eager look upon his countenance, for he took the most intense interest in every feature of the affair.
“Well, because it is rumoured that she had been seen late one night walking along the river-bank, near the spot where she was found, accompanied by a strange man.”
“A strange man?” he echoed, his interest increased. “Did anyone see him sufficiently close to recognise him?”
“I believe not,” I answered, hesitating at that moment to tell him all I knew. “The local police are making active inquiries, I believe.”
“I wonder who it could have been?” Sir Bernard exclaimed reflectively. “Mrs. Courtenay was always so devoted to poor Henry, that the story of the stranger appears to me very like some invention of the villagers. Whenever a tragedy occurs in a rural district all kinds of absurd canards are started. Probably that’s one of them. It is only natural for the rustic mind to connect a lover with a pretty young widow.”