“I should at least know that I had endeavoured to bring to justice those responsible for the poor fellow’s death.”
“It would only be an endeavour—a vain one, I assure you.”
“You mean that the secret is too well concealed ever to be revealed,” I observed quickly.
“Yes,” she said; “you have guessed aright.”
“And, in other words, you defy me to discover the truth?”
“I have not said so. The word defy is scarcely one which should be used between us, I think, considering that our interests are to-day mutual—just as they were on the night of the crime.”
“I fail to see that,” I answered. “I have no interest whatever in keeping this terrible secret hidden, for while I do so I am acting the part of accessory.”
“But surely you have an interest in preserving your own life?” she urged.
“Then you imply that if I were to lay information at Scotland Yard I should be in peril of my life?” I asked, looking straight into those calm eyes that ever and anon seemed full of mystery.
“Of that I cannot speak with any degree of certainty,” she responded. “I would only warn you that in this matter continued silence is by far the best.”