XI
SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT
"Fatality!" exclaimed Alfred. And, raising his head, he strodeimpetuously towards Miss Meredith. "You have enjoined a confession ofguilt and forbidden us to assert our innocence," he cried. "But Ishall assert mine now and always, whatever happens and whoeversuffers. I should not be worthy of the happiness I aim at, if I didnot declare my guiltlessness in the face of facts which seem tomilitate against me."
"I believe you--" she began, her hand trembling towards his. But theconfiding impulse was stayed--by what thought? by what dread? and herhand fell and her lips closed before she had completed the sentence.
"I am innocent," he repeated, drawing himself up in proud assertion,nobly borne out by the clear regard of the eye which now turnedalternately on George and Leighton, who were standing upon either sideof him.
"What is the use of repeating a phrase you cannot back up with proof?"called out George, who was still gnawing his own special grievance. "Iam as innocent as you are, but I scorn to take advantage of each andevery opportunity to assert it."
Leighton neither spoke nor moved. The melancholy in which he was nowcompletely lost repelled all attempt to break it. Nor did thisexpression of complete wretchedness alter during the hubbub thatfollowed. When it did--but I must make clear the circumstances of thischange. I was engaged in making my adieux to Miss Meredith, whenSweetwater, after a marked effort to meet my eye, motioned me to joinhim in the doorway of the den where Mr. Gillespie's body still lay.Not enjoying the summons, yet feeling it impossible to slight them, Iventured, for the last time, or so I hoped, down the hall.
The young detective was looking into the room which had already playedso conspicuous a part in the events of the night, and as I drew upbeside him, I perceived that his eyes were fixed not upon theout-stretched figure of its late occupant, but on the face and form ofLeighton Gillespie, who was bending above it.
For all the humiliation I felt at thus sharing the professionalsurveillance entered into by this able young detective, I could notresist following his glance, which seemed to find something remarkablein the attitude or expression of the man before me.
The result was a similar interest on my part and a score of newsurmises. The melancholy which up till now had been the predominatingcharacteristic of this inscrutable face had yielded to what could notbe called a smile and yet was strangely like one; and this smile orshadow of a smile, had in it just that tinge of sarcasm which made itthe one look of all others least to be expected from a son who incommon with his brothers laboured under a suspicion of having beenthe direct cause of his father's death.
With the memory of it fixed indelibly in my mind, I moved away, and inanother moment was quit of the house in which I had spent four hoursof extraordinary suspense and exciting adventure. As I passed down thestoop, I met a young man coming up. He was the first of the army ofreporters destined to besiege that house before daybreak.