"No, Ralph, old chap. When I am certain of their true importance I'll explain them to you. At present I desire to pursue my own methods until I arrive at some clear conclusion."
This disinclination to tell me the truth was annoying. He had always been quite frank and open, explaining all his theories, and showing to me any weak points in the circumstantial evidence. Yet suddenly, as it seemed to me, he had become filled with a strange mistrust. Why, I could not conceive.
"But surely you can tell me the nature of your discoveries?" I said. "There need be no secrets between us in this affair."
"No, Ralph. But I'm superstitious enough to believe that ill-luck follows a premature exposure of one's plans," he said.
His excuse was a lame one--a very lame one. I smiled--in order to show him that I read through such a transparent attempt to mislead me.
"I might have refused to show you that letter of Ethelwynn's," I protested. "Yet our interests being mutual I handed it to you."
"Because knowledge of it has changed the whole course of my inquiries."
"Changed them from one direction to another?"
"And you are now prosecuting them in the direction of Ethelwynn?"
I looked at his face, and saw upon it an expression of profound mysteriousness. His dark, well-marked countenance was a complex one always, but at that moment I was utterly unable to discern whether he spoke the truth, or whether he only wished to mislead my suspicions into a different channel. That he was the acme of shrewdness, that his powers of deduction were extraordinary, and that his patience in unravelling a secret was almost beyond comprehension I knew well. Even those great trackers of criminals, Shaw and Maddox, of New Scotland Yard, held him in respect, and admired his acute intelligence and marvellous power of perception.
Yet his attempt to evade a question which so closely concerned my own peace of mind and future happiness tried my patience. If he had really discovered some fresh facts I considered it but right that I should be acquainted with them.
"Has your opinion changed as to the identity of the person who committed the crime?" I asked him, rather abruptly.
"Not in the least," he responded, slowly lighting his foul pipe. "How can it, in the face of the letter we burnt?"