Then, hailing a cab, they entered it, leaving Fensden on the pavement looking after them. Godfrey’s face was still very pale. It was impossible for him to be blind to the fact that his kindness to Teresina had been the means of bringing down grave suspicion upon himself. Yet, even with that knowledge before him, he knew that he would not, or could not, have acted otherwise than he had done. When they reached the lawyer’s private office, the door was shut and they sat down to business. “Well, Mr. Henderson,” said Mr. Codey, “what is your opinion now?” “I think that the public mind is already jumping to the conclusion that I am responsible for the murder,” Godfrey answered, without fear or hesitation. “I am very much afraid that you must accustom yourself to look upon it in that light,” the other replied. “The man Fensden’s evidence, given in such a manner as he gave it, was unnecessarily damaging.” “He is a black-hearted scoundrel,” said the old baronet, wrathfully. “I told you yesterday, Godfrey, that I didn’t trust him, and that I felt sure he bore you some ill-will. And yet, do you know, Mr. Codey,” he added, turning to the lawyer, “Mr. Henderson has done everything for that man. He has practically kept him for years past, he took him on a tour round Europe only a few months ago, and this is the result. It makes one sick with humanity.” “When you have seen as much of humanity as I have, you will not be surprised at anything,” said the lawyer. “The greater the obligation in many cases, the deeper the ingratitude. We are wandering from the point, however. Now I am going to be plain-spoken. Tell me, Mr. Henderson, did you ever, under any sort of circumstance, make love, or suggest love, to the woman who is now deceased?” “Never,” said Godfrey, firmly. “The man who declares that I did, lies.” “Very probable, but that won’t prevent his saying it. When you left her in Burford Street, did you meet any one near the house?” “Not a soul. The street, so far as I could see, was empty.” “I think you said this morning that the night porter let you in at your hotel? Did you make any remark to him respecting the time?” “Yes, I said to him when he had opened the door, ‘I’m afraid I’m rather late,’ then, looking at my watch, I added, ‘Why, it’s half-past twelve!’” “If he’s blessed with a good memory, he will recollect that,” said Codey. Then with his usual abruptness, he continued, “Which way did you walk from Burford Street?” “Through the Tottenham Court Road, along Oxford Street, and down Bond Street.” “A man shall walk it quickly to-morrow morning in order to see how long it will take. If only that hall porter has a good memory, and can be relied upon, this should prove an important point.” “But surely, my good sir,” put in Sir Vivian, “you do not for a moment suppose that Mr. Henderson will be accused of having killed this woman?”