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A silence fell between them upon this statement, and Robert Turold's eyes turned towards his papers again. But Thalassa stood watching him, as though he had something on his mind still. He brought it out abruptly "And what about your daughter?" "My daughter is going to London with my sister for a prolonged visit," said Robert Turold hurriedly.
He said nothing of this chance encounter, or of Robert Turold's letter, to the dead man's sister who was now pouring out her fears and suspicions to him. He was a receptacle into which confidences might be emptied, but he gave nothing in return. Mrs. Pendleton did not need that. Her state of mind compelled her to speak, and her impulsiveness hurried her along on the high tide of a flood of words.
Turold's legal adviser?" she continued, after a pause. Mr. Brimsdown, always chary of unnecessary words, replied with a slight bow. "I suppose you have come to Cornwall to investigate the cause of his death?" Mr. Brimsdown remained silent, waiting to hear more. "I I wish to speak to you about that." Her lips quivered with some inward agitation.
Barrant dismissed young Turold's opinions about the case with an impatient shake of the head. "Who told him about the marks?" he said. It was the thought which had occurred to Mr. Brimsdown at the time, but he did not say so then. "How did you discover them?" he asked. "When I was examining the body. But Charles Turold had no reason to examine the body. Perhaps Dr. Ravenshaw told him.
Brimsdown imagined nearly £50,000 in fact. It was at Robert Turold's suggestion that Mr. Brimsdown undertook to invest the sum at better rates of interest, and thus, before a year had passed, the whole of Robert Turold's business affairs were in the hands of the solicitor. On one point Mr. Brimsdown was clear.
"And one of the strange things about it is that the dead man's relatives differ whether it is murder or suicide. That's what brings me to you. You are a medical man, and you knew Robert Turold intimately. Would you consider him a man of suicidal tendencies?" "Many men have tendencies towards suicide at odd moments," replied the doctor, "particularly men of Robert Turold's temperament."
Robert Turold's dog crouched in the circle of the glow with amber eyes fixed on the old man's face as if he were a god, and Thalassa lived up to one of the attributes of divinity by not deigning to give his worshipper a sign. Occasionally the dog lifted a wistful supplicating paw, dropping it again in dejection when it passed unregarded.
Father Simon, of course, died without family, but Robert married, the family name came to be spelt "Turold," and thus was founded that branch of the family of which the last Robert Turold was now the head. The family tree was complete. Such was the substance of Robert Turold's life quest, and the story had occupied two hours in telling.
The sound of the lawyer stirring in the study overhead seemed to rouse him from his immobility. He closed the door, and stood looking up the staircase with the shadow of indecision on his face. Upstairs Mr. Brimsdown made unavailing search among Robert Turold's papers for proofs of his statement about his marriage.
I have been examining those marks on Robert Turold's arm again, and I have come to the conclusion that they were made by somebody in a violent passion." "I have the photographs here," said Dawfield, rummaging in a drawer. "They do not help us at all. There are no finger-prints nothing but blurs." Barrant glanced at the photographs and pushed them aside.
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