CHAPTER XXI
Davis directed a keen glance at his elder sister over the bowed head of Iris. The younger woman was by no means of an emotional nature. Light, frivolous and volatile, she had danced through life, and, on the whole, had had a good time. One could not picture her in a tragic mood.
And yet, she was the personification of deep emotion now. She could hardly speak for those convulsive sobs, and in her frightened eyes there was a deep and haunting terror. At what point, and through what circumstances, had tragedy touched this little selfish, self-centred butterfly, gifted with a certain amount of cunning and sharpness, but utterly brainless.
"What do you know of No. 10 Cathcart Square, except what you gleaned from the newspapers?" demanded her brother sternly. "How can you be implicated in the murder of the unknown man whom Carrie mistook for me?"
"But Carrie did not mistake him for you," wailed Iris. "She told me afterwards that the idea suggested itself in a flash, and when she read the newspaper she was not sure whether it was you who had crept in there, according to the evidence, and made away with yourself, through fear of the police."
"Leave Carrie out of it for the moment," said Davis. "Whatever she did was well thought out. Of course, we both know her object was to identify me, if possible, and put Scotland Yard off the scent. What we want to know is, how did you come to be acquainted with the house? what do you mean by saying that, if further investigations are made, you might be dragged in?"
"I was there on four occasions: on the last a few days before the murder, or suicide, whatever it was."
Davis gasped, and Carrie lifted her hands in horror. What did this confession mean? It was impossible that this slim, weak girl had herself been the murderess, could have killed a big, powerful man of the same build as the supposed Davis, with those slim, weak hands.
She saw the horror in their faces, and hastened to reassure them. "Oh no, not that, I swear to you. I am no more a murderess than you were a murderer, Reggie. But if the whole thing is raked up, and the man whom I believe it to be, accurately identified this time, things might look very black for me."