Who? Part 40

Cyril ached for pity of her.

"Why take it for granted that you did?" he suggested, partly from a desire to comfort her, but also because there really lingered a doubt in his mind.

"Do you suspect any one else?" she cried.

"Not at present, but----"

She threw up her hands with a gesture of despair. "No, of course not. I must have killed him. But I never meant to--you will believe that, won't you? Those doctors were right, I must have been insane!"

"I am sure you were not. Arthur only intended to frighten you by sending for those men."

"But if I was not crazy, why can I remember so little of what took place on that dreadful night and for some time afterwards?"

"I am told that a severe shock often has that effect," replied Cyril.

"But, oh, how I wish you could answer a few questions! I don't want to raise your hopes; but there is one thing that has always puzzled me and till that is explained I for one shall always doubt whether it was you who killed Arthur."

Again the eager light leaped into her eyes.

"Oh, tell me quickly what--what makes you think that I may not have done so?"

Cyril contemplated her a moment in silence. He longed to pursue the topic, but was fearful of the effect it might have on her.

"Yet now that she knows the worst, it may be a relief to her to talk about it," he said to himself. "Yes, I will risk it," he finally decided.

"Do you remember that you put a drug in Arthur's coffee?" he asked out loud.

"Yes, perfectly."

"Then you must have expected to make your escape before he regained consciousness."

"Yes--yes!"

"Then why did you arm yourself with a pistol?"

"I didn't! I had no pistol."

"But if you shot Arthur, you must have had a pistol."

She stared at Cyril in evident bewilderment.

"I could have sworn I had no pistol."

Cyril tried to control his rising excitement. "You knew, however, that Arthur owned one?"

"Yes, but I never knew where he kept it."

"You are sure you have not forgotten----"

"No, no!" she interrupted him. "My memory is perfectly clear up to the time when Arthur seized me and threw me on the floor."

"After that you remember nothing?"

"Oh, yes, I have a vague recollection of a long walk through the dark--of a train--of you--of policemen. But everything is so confused that I can be sure of nothing."

Cyril paced the room deep in thought.

"It seems to me incredible," he said at last, "that if you did not even know where to look for a pistol, you should have found it, to say nothing of having been able to use it, while you were being beaten into unconsciousness by that brute."

But Anita only shook her head hopelessly.

"It is extraordinary, and yet I must have done so. For it has been proved, has it not, that Arthur and I were absolutely alone?"

"Certainly not! How can we be sure that some one was not concealed in the room or did not climb in through the window or--why, there are a thousand possibilities which can never be proved!"

"Ah!" she exclaimed, her whole body trembling with eagerness. "I now remember that I had put all my jewels in a bag, and as that has disappeared, a burglar--" But as she scanned Cyril's face, she paused.

"You had the bag with you at the nursing home. The jewels are safe," he said very gently.

"Then," she cried, "it is useless trying to deceive ourselves any longer--I killed Arthur and must face the consequences."

"What do you mean?"

"I have decided to give myself up."

"You shall not! I will not allow it!" he cried.

"But don't you see that I can't spend the rest of my life in hiding?

Think what it would mean to live in daily, hourly dread of exposure?

Why, death would be preferable to that."

"Oh, you would be acquitted. There is no doubt of that. That is not what I am afraid of. But the idea of you, Anita, in prison. Why, it is out of the question. A week of it would kill you."

"And if it did, what of it? What has life to offer me now?"

"Give me time. I will find some way of saving you. I will do anything--everything."

"There is nothing you can do," she said, laying her hand gently on his arm. "You have already risked too much. Oh, I can never thank you enough for all your goodness to me!"

"Don't--don't--I would gladly give my life for you!"

"I know it, Cousin Cyril," she murmured, with downcast eyes. A wave of colour swept for a moment over her face.

Cyril s.h.i.+vered. With a mighty effort he strove to regain his composure.

Cousin Cyril! Yes, that was what he was to her--that was all he could ever be to her.

"I know how n.o.ble, how unselfish you are," she continued, lifting her br.i.m.m.i.n.g eyes to his. "But your life is not your own. We must both remember that."

"Both? Anita, is it possible that you----"