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Page 13
"Do you mean--"
She met my glance, and I nodded gravely.
"Oh, Jack! When did it happen?"
"Last night. But you have not told me if you knew him?" I persisted.
Isobel shook her head.
"Not in any way--intimately," she replied. "Eric"--she hesitated,
glancing up quickly and as quickly down again--"and he were not on
good terms."
"But you had met him?" I persisted; for I had detected in her manner a
reluctance to discuss Sir Marcus which I failed to understand.
"I used to meet him, Jack, when--when you were away. He came once or
twice with Eric. They were not good friends, even then. But I never
liked him. I quite lost sight of him from the time that he came into
the title--about four years ago, was it not?--until quite recently. He
had been in Russia, I think. Then he--" Again she hesitated. It was
odd how often people hesitated, as if seeking for words, when speaking
of the late baronet. "He called at the theater. Considering that he
knew of my engagement to Eric, his manner was not quite nice. But I
was anxious to prevent trouble, and did not mention the visit to Eric.
Sir Marcus was very persistent, however. One night Eric saw him
leaving the stage-door and I believe there was a dreadful scene at
Eric's rooms."
"And that is all you know of him, Isobel?"
"Practically all, except what I have heard, of course. I might add
that I instructed Marie to tell Sir Marcus I was engaged whenever he
might call in future."
"And did he call again?"
"Marie said that he sent his card up on several occasions, but she
knew how the affair worried me and did not tell me at the time. I saw
him in the stalls occasionally, and--oh!--"
The last word was a mere murmur. Isobel's expression grew more than
ever troubled.
"He was there last night," she whispered, and raising her eyes to me:
"Tell me how it happened, and where--"
But ere I had time to begin there was an interruption. Dimly, a
telephone bell rang. I could hear the voice of Marie, Isobel's maid,
answering the call then:
"Mr. Coverly to speak to you, madam," said Marie, entering the room.
"He must have only just heard the news!" cried Isobel, rising swiftly
and going out.
Consumed by impatience, I walked up and down the dainty apartment
listening to Isobel's muffled voice speaking in the lobby. Twice I
went to the window and peered down into the street, expecting to see
the thick-set figure of Inspector Gatton approaching. My frame of mind
was peculiar and troubled. Gatton's inquiries pointed unmistakably to
a suspicion that Sir Marcus's last hours had been spent, if not
actually with, at any rate near to Isobel. And since the man who would
most directly profit by the baronet's death happened also to be
Isobel's _fianc�_, I foresaw a dreadful ordeal for both if Eric
Coverly was not in a position to establish an alibi.
I had been about to ask her if Coverly had been in her company on the
previous night when the interruption had occurred. Now if Gatton
should arrive and find me in Isobel's flat, what construction would he
put upon my presence?
Yet again I went to the window and peered anxiously up and down the
street. Every cab that approached I expected to contain the inspector,
and I heaved a sigh of relief as one after another passed the door.
Pedestrians who turned the distant corner I scrutinized closely and
was so employed when Isobel came running back to the room.
All her color had fled and her eyes were wide and fear-stricken.
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