“It is more than absurd,” replied Austin warmly.  “I am ashamed to think that my sister should have given utterance to such a dreadful thought against a faithful old servant who has been with Robert for half a lifetime, and was devoted to him.”

“Mrs. Pendleton saw him looking through the door.”

“She only thought so.  She went to the door immediately to find out who it was, but there was nobody there.”

“Do you think she imagined it?”

“No; I think somebody was there, but it is by no means certain that it was Thalassa.  It might have been Thalassa’s wife.  It might even have been Robert’s daughter.”

“Was not Miss Turold present at the family gathering?”

“No; my brother naturally did not wish her to be present, and she went upstairs.  She went out while we were in the room.  The door was slightly open, and she may have glanced in as she passed.”

“But this person was listening.”

Austin Turold shrugged his shoulders.

“Was your brother talking about his marriage at the time?”

“Yes.”

“Could Miss Turold have heard what he was saying?”

“Anybody could.  The door was partly open.”

“There is some mystery here.”

Barrant spoke with the thoughtful air of one viewing a new vista opening in the distance.  These surmises about the listener at the door, by their manifest though perhaps unintended implication, pointed to a deeper and more terrible mystery than he had imagined.

Austin Turold did not speak.  Darkness had long since fallen, and a lamp, which had been brought in by the maid who was also the model, stood on the table between the two men, and threw its shaded beams on their faces.  A clock on the mantel-piece chimed eight, and aroused Barrant to the flight of time.

“I must get back,” he said.  “I intended to see Dr. Ravenshaw, but I shall leave that until later.  Can I get a conveyance back to Penzance?”

“There is a public wagonette.  I am not sure when, it goes, but it starts from ‘The Three Jolly Wreckers’ at the other end of the churchtown.”

“‘The Three Jolly Wreckers!’ That’s rather a cynical name for a Cornish inn, isn’t it?”

“Oh, the Cornish people are not ashamed of the old wrecking days, I assure you.”

He accompanied Barrant to the door with the lamp, which he held above his head to light him down the garden path.  Barrant, glancing back, saw him looking after him, his face outlined in the darkness by the yellow rays of the lamp.

CHAPTER XIV

Barrant found the inn at the dark end of a stone alley, with the sound of tipsy singing and shuffling feet coming through the half-open door.  He made his way up three granite steps into a side-entrance, catching a glimpse through a glass partition of shaggy red faces and pint pots floating in a fog of tobacco smoke.  A stout landlord leaned behind the bar watching his customers with the tolerant smile of a man who was making a living out of their merriment.  He straightened himself as he caught sight of Barrant, and opened the sliding window.  The detective inquired about the wagonette, and learnt that it had not yet arrived.