"Has she then
learned who killed Pine?" he asked cautiously.
Lady Agnes suddenly rose and began to pace the room, twisting her gloves
and trying to control herself. Usually she was so composed that Lambert
wondered at this restlessness. He wondered still more when she burst
into violent tears, and therefore hastened to draw her back to the
chair. When she was seated he knelt beside her and passed his arm round
her neck, as distressed as she was. It was so unlike Agnes to break down
in this way, and more unlike her to sob brokenly. "Oh, I'm afraid--I'm
afraid."
"Afraid of what, darling?"
"I'm afraid to learn who killed my husband. He might have done so, and
yet he only fired the first shot--"
"Agnes," Lambert rose up suddenly, "are you talking of Garvington?"
"Yes." She leaned back and dried her tears. "In spite of what he says,
I am afraid he may be guilty."
Lambert's heart seemed to stand still. "You talk rubbish!" he cried
angrily.
"I wish it was. Oh, how I wish it was rubbish! But I can't be sure. Of
course, he may have meant what he says--"
"What does he say? Tell me everything. Oh, heavens!" Lambert clutched
his smooth hair.
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