"Can you ask the question?" I replied, indignantly. "I have told you that I heard him speak of her in terms of respect and affection of which any woman might be proud. He lives in the memory of her. I owe his friendly reception of me to some resemblance which he fancies he sees between my figure and hers.
I have seen tears in his eyes, I have heard his voice falter and fail him, when he spoke of her. He may be the falsest of men in all besides, but he is true to _her_--he has not misled me in that one thing. There are signs that never deceive a woman when a man is talking to her of what is really near his heart: I saw those signs. It is as true that I poisoned her as that he did. Iam ashamed to set my opinion against yours, Mr. Playmore; but Ireally cannot help it. I declare I am almost angry with you."He seemed to be pleased, instead of offended by the bold manner in which I expressed myself.
"My dear Mrs. Eustace, you have no reason to be angry with me. In one respect, I entirely share your view--with this difference, that I go a little further than you do.""I don't understand you."
"You will understand me directly. You describe Dexter's feeling for the late Mrs. Eustace as a happy mixture of respect and affection. I can tell you it was a much warmer feeling toward her than that. I have my information from the poor lady herself--who honored me with her confidence and friendship for the best part of her life. Before she married Mr. Macallan--she kept it a secret from him, and you had better keep it a secret too--Miserrimus Dexter was in love with her. Miserrimus Dexter asked her--deformed as he was, seriously asked her--to be his wife.""And in the face of that," I cried, "you say that he poisoned her!""I do. I see no other conclusion possible, after what happened during your visit to him. You all but frightened him into a fainting fit. What was he afraid of?"I tried hard to find an answer to that. I even embarked on an answer without quite knowing where my own words might lead me.
Mr. Dexter is an old and true friend of my husband, I began.
"When he heard me say I was not satisfied with the Verdict, he might have felt alarmed--""He might have felt alarmed at the possible consequences to your husband of reopening the inquiry," said Mr. Playmore, ironically finishing the sentence for me. "Rather far-fetched, Mrs. Eustace;and not very consistent with your faith in your husband's innocence. Clear your mind of one mistake," he continued, seriously, "which may fatally mislead you if you persist in pursuing your present course. Miserrimus Dexter, you may take my word for it, ceased to be your husband's friend on the day when your husband married his first wife. Dexter has kept up appearances, I grant you, both in public and in private. His evidence in his friend's favor at the Trial was given with the deep feeling which everybody expected from him. Nevertheless, Ifirmly believe, looking under the surface, that Mr. Macallan has no bitterer enemy living than Miserrimus Dexter."He turned me cold. I felt that here, at least, he was right. My husband had wooed and won the woman who had refused Dexter's offer of marriage. Was Dexter the man to forgive that? My own experience answered me, and said, No. "Bear in mind what I have told you," Mr. Playmore proceeded. "And now let us get on to your own position in this matter, and to the interests that you have at stake. Try to adopt my point of view for the moment; and let us inquire what chance we have of making any further advance toward a discovery of the truth. It is one thing to be morally convinced (as I am) that Miserrimus Dexter is the man who ought to have been tried for the murder at Gleninch; and it is another thing, at this distance of time, to lay our hands on the plain evidence which can alone justify anything like a public assertion of his guilt. There, as I see it, is the insuperable difficulty in the case. Unless I am completely mistaken, the question is now narrowed to this plain issue: The public assertion of your husband's innocence depends entirely on the public assertion of Dexter's guilt. How are you to arrive at that result? There is not a particle of evidence against him. You can only convict Dexter on Dexter's own confession. Are you listening to me?"I was listening, most unwillingly. If he were right, things had indeed come to that terrible pass. But I could not--with all my respect for his superior knowledge and experience--I could not persuade myself that he _was_ right. And I owned it, with the humility which I really felt.
He smiled good-humoredly.
"At any rate," he said, "you will admit that Dexter has not freely opened his mind to you thus far? He is still keeping something from your knowledge which you are interested in discovering?""Yes. I admit that."
"Very good. What applies to your view of the case applies to mine. I say, he is keeping from you the confession of his guilt.
You say, he is keeping from you information which may fasten the guilt on some other person. Let us start from that point.
Confession, or information, how are you to get at what he is now withholding from you? What influence can you bring to bear on him when you see him again?""Surely I might persuade him?"
"Certainly. And if persuasion fail--what then? Do you think you can entrap him into speaking out? or terrify him into speaking out?""If you will look at your notes, Mr. Playmore, you will see that I have already succeeded in terrifying him--though I am only a woman and though I didn't mean to do it.""Very well answered. You mark the trick. What you have done once you think you can do again. Well, as you are determined to try the experiment, it can do you no harm to know a little more of Dexter's character and temperament than you know now. Suppose we apply for information to somebody who can help us?"I started, and looked round the room. He made me do it--he spoke as if the person who was to help us was close at our elbows.
