"There have been moments," said Tremayne, "when I have almost felt
you to be vindictive."
"D'ye wonder?" growled O'Moy. "Has no suspicion crossed your mind
that I may know the whole truth?"
Tremayne was taken aback. "That startles you, eh?" cried O'Moy,
and pointed a mocking finger at the captain's face, whose whole
expression had changed to one of apprehension.
"What is it?" cried Sylvia. Instinctively she felt that under this
troubled surface some evil thing was stirring, that the issues
perhaps were not quite as simple as she had deemed them.
There was a pause. O'Moy, with his back to the window now, his
hands still clasped behind him, looked mockingly at Tremayne and
waited.
"Why don't you answer her?" he said at last. "You were confidential
enough when I came in. Can it be that you are keeping something
back, that you have secrets from the lady who has no doubt promised
by now to become your wife as the shortest way to mending her recent
folly?"
Tremayne was bewildered. His answer, apparently an irrelevance,
was the mere enunciation of the thoughts O'Moy's announcement had
provoked.
"Do you mean to say that you have known throughout that I did not
kill Samoval?" he asked.
Pages:
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337