"I cannot tell you," she said brokenly, "but the cause--in no
way--concerns--either my brother's death--or David's innocence. It is
personal--between Giovanni and myself. In God's good time, it may be put
right."
Brett, singularly enough, was a man of quick impulse. He was moved now by
a profound pity for the woman who thus bared her heart to him.
"Thank you for your candour, Mrs. Capella," he exclaimed, with a fervour
that evidently touched her. "May I ask one more question, and I have done
with a most unpleasant ordeal. Do you suspect any person of being your
brother's assassin?"
"No," she said. "Indeed I do not."
CHAPTER VIII
REVELATIONS
Hume and Winter did not meet on terms that might be strictly described as
cordial.
Brett, on quitting the Hall, had surrendered himself to a spell of vacant
bewilderment. He haled the unwilling Hume from Helen's society, and picked
up the detective at the Wheat Sheaf Inn. Then the barrister, from sheer
need of mental relief, determined to have some fun with them.
"You two ought to know each other," he said good-humouredly. "At one time
you took keen interest in matters of mutual concern. Allow me to introduce
you. Hume--this is Mr. Winter, of Scotland Yard."
David was quite unprepared for the meeting.
"What?" he exclaimed, his upper lip stiffening, "the man who concocted all
sorts of imaginary evidence against me!"
"'Concocted' is not the right word, nor imaginary' either," growled
Winter.
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