"It's past believing!" "Is it? I haven't found it so." "That's because you're walking in darkness. Do you know that the youngster Margaret's plighted to is private secretary to Mrs. Gregory Lamb?" "Is he? Then I should say that that's presumptive evidence that he's not bad looking. She has an eye for a good-looking man." "Gregory Lamb was staying at Pitmuir when she was at Cuthbert Grahame's, calling herself his wife. A half-bred, ill-conditioned young scamp he was." "I should imagine that Mr. Lamb was not born in the caste of Vere de Vere." "Were they acquainted then? What was there between them? How come they to be married now?--he without a penny, to my knowledge, she with all that money. She'd not marry such a creature as he was--for love, that I'll swear. They were birds of a feather, only he was more fool than knave, and she more knave than fool." "That about describes them now--if a lawyer may say as much--under privilege." "Andrew, can you keep a still tongue?" "If I couldn't I shouldn't be sitting here." "I've always had a suspicion that there was something wrong about that will." "Do you mean the one under which she inherits? You needn't confine yourself to suspicion upon that point--it's about as wrong as it could be. If there had been substantial opposition she'd have found it hard to bring it in." "I'm not meaning it in your sense. I know that Grahame signed it in the presence of those two daft lassies; but I don't believe that he knew what he was signing, although the evidence is all the other way. I've kept my doubts to myself until this moment, and even now I can't tell you just why I don't believe it--but I don't." "Quite possibly you're right, but you can't prove it." "I know I can't, and there's something else that I can't prove." "What's that?" "I believe she murdered him." "David!" "She was equal to it; and I'm beginning to see more clearly how she brought herself to the sticking point. The day before his death Margaret Wallace called----" "Margaret Wallace? you don't say!" "She told me so herself this afternoon. She was refused admission as she supposed by Nannie Foreshaw. I happen to know that Nannie couldn't have got out of bed and gone downstairs to save her life--that woman had taken care of that. Before I came to you I wrote to Nannie asking if she did, to make sure. I believe that woman played at being Nannie, imitating her voice. She may have known Margaret's story, probably Grahame had told her, and was aware that if she returned and saw him her reign was at an end. So she precipitated matters. She juggled that will into existence, and, directly she had done so, killed him." "It's a weighty charge you're making, David; be careful how you make it."