"Last night, and he seemed to think that some one was following him--a
detective."
I noticed that Isobel spoke of Eric Coverly with a certain manner of
restraint for which I could not account. Yet perhaps it was only
natural that she should do so, but at the time I was foolishly blind
to the opposing emotions which fought and conflicted within her.
"He still refused to explain his movements on the night of the
murder?" I asked.
"Yes, he persisted in his extraordinary silence," said Isobel.
The look of trouble in her eyes grew more acute.
"What I cannot understand is a sort of attitude of resentment which he
has lately adopted."
"Of resentment? Towards whom?"
"Towards _me_."
"But--"
"Oh, it's quite incomprehensible, Jack, and it is making me horribly
unhappy. He complained so bitterly too about this police surveillance
to which he is subjected. He realizes that the coroner is almost
certain to put a wrong construction on his silence, but instead of
being frank about it he adopts, even when alone with me, this
incomprehensible attitude of resentment. In fact his behavior almost
suggests that _I_ am responsible for his present misfortunes."
"He must be mad," I said, and I expect I spoke bitterly, for Isobel
lowered her eyes and her face flushed with embarrassment.
"Don't think that I condemn him," I added hastily, "but really in
justice to you, if not in order to clear his own good name, he should
speak out at once.
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