“I know Nan Nest. She’s the girl Mark Carwell is going to marry.”
“Do you mind if you sit down?” said Reggie, and wandered away to the window. “You’re disturbing to the intellect, Miss Amber. Let us be calm. You shouldn’t talk about people marrying people and look like that.” Miss Amber smiled at his back. She has confessed to moments in which she would like to be Reggie Fortune’s mother. “Yes. Well now, does Miss Amber happen to know the man Mark?”
“I’ve met him. He’s not a bad fellow. A first-class fighting-subaltern. That sort of thing.”
Reggie nodded. “That’s his public form too.”
“Oh, Mr. Fortune, he’s absolutely straight. Not a very wise youth, of course. You know, I could imagine him killing his cousin, but what I can’t imagine is that he would ever say he didn’t if he did.”
“Yes. There weren’t any women on the jury?”
“I never do when you’re listening. That was a scientific statement. Now, what’s Miss Nest like?”
“Like a jolly schoolboy. Or she was, poor child. Oh, they would have been splendidly happy, if that tiresome man had set Mark up somewhere in the country instead of getting himself murdered.”
Reggie smiled sadly. “Don’t say that to anyone but me. Or let her say it. Why did the tiresome man object to her? I suppose it’s true that he did?”
“Oh heavens, yes. Because she’s on the stage. She plays little parts, you know, flappers and such. She’s quite good as herself. She can’t act.”
“What was the late Carwell? What sort of fellow? That didn’t come out at the trial.”
“A priceless prig, Mark says. I suppose he was the last survivor of our ancient aristocracy. Poor Mark!”
“Well”--he spread out his hands--“everything. You haven’t exactly cleared it up, have you?”
“Mark told Nan he didn’t do it,” she said quietly, and Reggie looked into her eyes. “Oh, can’t you see? That’s to trust to. That’s sure.” Reggie turned away. “You will help her?” the low voice came again.
And at last, “My dear, I daren’t say so,” Reggie said. “You mustn’t tell her to hope anything. I’ll go over all the case. But the man is condemned.”
“Only for something new. And I don’t see it.”
Reggie spread out his hands. “That’s faith.”
“Mr. Fortune! When I said I had come about the Carwell case, you said, ‘Oh, my prophetic soul!’ You don’t believe the evidence, then. You never did. You always thought there was something they didn’t find out.”