"I ... my God! man, you're not accusing me of murdering my own father, are you? You're daft--insane--idiotic!"
"I'm not accusing anybody, Mr. Duggan; simply reconstructing matters for the purpose of finding out the true assassins. And, as I told you last night, every one, according to English law, may be considered guilty until he be proved innocent. Suspicions seem to point heavily to you, I must say. But we've got to have more facts, of course.
"He didn't do it, Mr. Deland! Of course he didn't do it!"
Cynthia shrilled out these words suddenly, rushing toward Cleek and fastening her hands about his arm. "You're mad to suggest such a thing, to even think it! My Ross wouldn't stoop to _murder_ for a beastly inheritance! You don't know him as I do--as all these others do. It's incredible."
"Quite true, Miss Debenham. But let's ask Mr. Narkom what he thinks of it. He's kept his peace during this session, proving himself, no doubt, a wiser man than I. Mr. Narkom, give us your views, please. Who do _you_ think has committed this crime, according to present evidence?"
"That man!" Mr. Narkom pointed excitedly in Ross's direction, his fat face red with excitement, his forehead perspiring with the heat of his excitement. "_He_ fired the shot. But the stiletto--that is a more difficult question."
"And you think Mr. Duggan actually did kill his father, then? No, no, sir, I beg of you, let us finish this discussion before you interrupt. It might lead to something really enlightening. You think that, Mr. Narkom? Considering the position in which the shot was fired, and the position in which Mr. Duggan himself stood last night?"
"H'm. I'm sorry. But I'm inclined to agree. But the evidence, I admit, is at present slight--the actual circumstantial evidence, I mean. You're not going to--arrest--him on that, I hope?"
Arrest! The fateful word fell upon that assemblage with truly sinister meaning. Arrest Ross! Arrest him! Impossible! Upon every face these thoughts might be read--except upon Lady Paula's, where, indeed, a sort of secret and hidden triumph seemed to glow like a light lit from within. Cleek flashed his eyes over every face. He paused at Lady Paula's for one moment, and then went on to Ross's--and ended up at length upon Catherine Dowd's. It was transfigured! Transfigured with hate of himself, with love of Ross: the two most intense feelings in human nature warring with each other upon it to be uppermost. That look of hatred made him positively shiver. If the woman had had any real reason for the crime, could she not have been the perpetrator of the stabbing episode? But she hadn't any reason, at least none that could be at present discovered. One would have to go deeper than that for motive.