The open declaration of the Countess held me in weak indecision. No doubt she was well aware of the motive of the crime, and therefore guessed who had struck the fatal blow. Yet she boldly expressed her intention of concealing her knowledge, which seemed strange on the face of it. A murder had been committed, therefore if she really had no reason to defeat the ends of justice she might surely reveal the dead man’s identity and explain all she knew concerning him. I argued this with her, but she shook her head and remained firm in her decision of silence.
Did she entertain, as I did, a grave suspicion of Lady Lolita?
This vague suggestion occurred to me as I sat staring straight up into the grey eyes of that brilliant woman before me. She knew the truth. She had told me so, yet next instant she seemed to regret the words had escaped her and sought lamely to modify her assertion.
She appeared to regard her statement as an error of judgment, and with all the tact of a clever woman ingeniously endeavoured to mislead me.
“One person could, I believe, tell us something,” I remarked presently, in order to show her that I was in possession of other facts that I had not revealed.
“Who’s that, pray?”
“A certain man named Richard Keene.” It was quite a haphazard shot, only made in order to ascertain whether the name really conveyed anything to her.
“Richard Keene!” she echoed, her brows knit in quick apprehension. “Did you know him?”
“I do know him,” was my calm response. “I have seen him down in Sibberton, if I am not very much mistaken.”
“Seen him!” she cried hoarsely. “Why, if you’ve seen him you’ve met an apparition. He died long ago.”