"But you must surely tell me, Mr. Royle," he urged quickly. "It's a most important point."
"No," I replied. "I'm not a detective, remember. I simply put to the test a suspicion I have entertained."
"Suspicion of what?"
"Whether my theory was correct or not."
"Whatever theory you hold, Mr. Royle, the truth remains the same. I truly believe," he said, looking hard at me, "namely that the unknown victim was struck down by the hand which imprinted the marks you brought to me—a woman's hand. And if I am not mistaken, sir—you know the identity of the guilty woman!"
CHAPTER XVII.
CONCERNS MRS. PETRE.
Days, weeks, passed, but I could obtain no further clue. The month of March lengthened into April, but we were as far as ever from a solution of the mystery.
Since my return from Brussels I had, of course seen Phrida many, many times, and though I had never reverted again to the painful subject, yet her manner and bearing showed only too plainly that she existed in constant dread!