"Then you think that jealousy was the cause of the tragedy? That she----"
"No, not jealousy," he interrupted, speaking quite calmly. "The facts I have discovered go to show that the motive was not jealousy."
"That's just where I fail to form a theory," he answered, after a brief silence, during which he watched the blue smoke curl upward to the sombre ceiling of my room. "In a few days I hope to discover the motive."
"You will let me assist you?" I urged, eagerly. "I am at your disposal at any hour."
"No," he answered, decisively. "You are prejudiced, Ralph. You unfortunately still love that woman."
A sigh escaped me. What he said was, alas! too true. I had adored her through those happy months prior to the tragedy. She had come into my lonely bachelor life as the one ray of sunlight that gave me hope and happiness, and I had lived for her alone. Because of her I had striven to rise in the profession, and had laboured hard so that in a little while I might be in a position to marry and buy that quiet country practice that was my ideal existence. And even now, with my idol broken by the knowledge of her previous engagement to the man now dead, I confess that I nevertheless still entertained a strong affection for her. The memory of a past love is often more sweet than the love itself--and to men it is so very often fatal.
I had risen to pour out some whiskey for my companion when, of a sudden, my man opened the door and announced:
"A lady?" we both exclaimed, with one voice.
I glanced at it. My visitor was the very last person I desired to meet at that moment, for she was none other than Ethelwynn herself.
"I'll go, old chap," Jevons cried, springing to his feet, and draining his glass at a single draught. "She mustn't meet me here. Good-bye till to-morrow. Remember, betray no sign to her that you know the truth. It's certainly a curious affair, as it now stands; but depend upon it that there's more complication and mystery in it than we have yet suspected."
As soon as Ambler Jevons had slipped out through my little study my love came slowly forward, as though with some unwillingness.
She was dressed, as at the inquest, in deep mourning, wearing a smartly-cut tailor-made dress trimmed with astrachan and a neat toque, her pale countenance covered with a thick spotted veil.