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"Let us leave this respectable Weatherley out of the case for a moment," he said. "To tell you the truth, I am weary of him. I would speak of ourselves--of my sister and myself and those others. You cannot deny that however wicked you may think us we are at least interesting."
"Have you come here to make fun of me?" Arnold asked quietly.
"Not in the least," Sabatini a.s.sured him. "On the contrary, I have come to make friends. My sister is penitent. We have decided to take your discretion for granted. I am here to explain. You want to understand all these things which seem to you so mysterious. Well, ask your questions. What is it that you wish to know?"
"Nothing," Arnold replied. "I have come to the conclusion that I was wrong to speak to your sister as I did. I have a great responsibility here which will occupy all my thoughts. I am going to devote myself to work. The other things do not interest me any longer."
Sabatini smiled.
"My young friend," he murmured, "you may say that to yourself, but it is not true. It is not life for you to buy these articles of food at one price and sell them for another; to hold the profit in your hand and smile. That is what life means in Tooley Street. You could do it for a little time, perhaps, but not for very long."
"It may seem absurd to you," Arnold protested, "but it's my duty for the present, anyhow, and I am going to do it. I shall have to work ten hours a day and I shall have no time for dreams. I am going to stay in the atmosphere I have to live in."
Sabatini shook his head.
"You must have relaxation."
"I can find it," Arnold replied. "I can find it without going so far afield."
Sabatini was silent for a moment. He was a man of few expressions, but he seemed a little disappointed.
"Will you do your duty any the less zealously, do you think," he asked, "because you have friends who take an interest in you?"
Arnold was suddenly conscious of the ungraciousness of his att.i.tude.
"You don't understand!" he exclaimed, a little desperately. "Your world wasn't made for me. I haven't any place in it. My work is here. I can't allow myself always to be distracted. Your sister is the most wonderful person I ever met, and it is one of the greatest pleasures I have ever known to talk to her, even for a few minutes, but I am more at peace with myself and with the world when I am away from her."
There was a gleam of approval in Sabatini's dark eyes. He nodded thoughtfully.
"It is well spoken. My sister chose to marry Samuel Weatherley, and the women of our race have been famous throughout history for their constancy. Must you, my dear young friend, go and hide your head in the sand because a woman is beautiful and chooses to be kind to you?
Fenella values your friendship. You have done her a service and you have done me a service. A few nights ago it amused me to feed your suspicions. This morning I feel otherwise. We do not choose, either of us, that you should think of us quite in the way you are thinking now."
Arnold hesitated no longer then. He came and stood by his visitor.
"Since you insist, then," he declared, "I will ask you the questions which I should have asked your sister. That is what you desire?"
"a.s.suredly," Sabatini a.s.sented.
"First then, who killed Rosario?"
"There is a certain directness about your methods," Sabatini said suavely, "which commends itself to me. No one could mistake you for anything but an Englishman."
"Tell me who killed Rosario!" Arnold repeated.
"As you will," Sabatini replied. "Rosario was murdered by a Portuguese Jew--a man of the name of Isaac Lalonde."
CHAPTER x.x.x
SOME QUESTIONS ANSWERED
Arnold stood quite still for several moments. The shock seemed to have deprived him even of the power of speech. Sabatini watched him curiously.
"Is it my fancy," he inquired, "or is the name familiar to you?"
"The name is familiar," Arnold confessed.
Sabatini, for a moment, appeared to be puzzled.
"Lalonde," he repeated to himself. "Why, Lalonde," he added, looking up quickly, "was the name of the young lady whom you brought with you to Bourne End. An uncommon name, too."
"Her uncle," Arnold declared; "the same man, beyond a doubt. The police tried to arrest him two days ago, and he escaped. You might have read of it in the paper. It was spoken of as an attempt to capture an anarchist. Lalonde fired at them when he made his escape."
Sabatini sighed.
"It is a small world," he admitted. "I know all about Isaac Lalonde, but I am very sorry indeed to hear that the young lady is connected with him. She seemed--I hope you will forgive me--to speak as though she lived in straitened circ.u.mstances. Do you mind telling me whether this event is likely to prove of inconvenience to her?"
Arnold shook his head.
"I am making arrangements to find her another apartment," he said.
"We have been through some very dark times together. I feel that I have the right to do everything that is necessary. I have no one else to support."
Sabatini hesitated.
"If one might be permitted," he began, with what was, for him, a considerable amount of diffidence,--
Arnold interposed a little brusquely.
"The care of Ruth Lalonde is upon my shoulders," he insisted. "There can be no question about that. From me it is not charity, for she shared her meals with me when I was practically starving. I am going to ask you more questions."
"Proceed, by all means," Sabatini invited.
"Was Starling concerned at all in this Rosario affair?"
"Not directly," Sabatini admitted.
"Then why," Arnold demanded, "does he hide and behave like a frightened child?"
"A pertinent question," Sabatini agreed. "You have to take into account the man's const.i.tutional cowardice. It is a fact, however, that he was perfectly well aware of what was going to happen, and there are circ.u.mstances connected with the affair--a doc.u.ment, for instance, that we know to be in the hands of the police--which account for their suspicions and would certainly tend to implicate our friend Starling. It would be quite easy to make out a very strong case against him."
"I do not understand," Arnold said, after a moment's silence, "what interest Lalonde could have had in killing Rosario."
Sabatini contemplated for a few moments the tip of his patent shoe.
Then he sighed gently and lit a cigarette.