"I had something else to do first," she said, in the same quiet voice.
She was looking down now, not at me, and her eyelashes were so long that
they made a shadow on her cheeks. But the blood streamed over her face.
"Even before I saw--Mr. Dundas," she went on, "I had the idea of calling
on you--about a different matter. I think it would be more honest of me,
if before I go on I tell you that--quite by accident, so far as I was
concerned--I was with someone who saw Mr. Dundas go to your house last
night, a little after twelve. I didn't dream of spying on--either of
you. It just happened, it wouldn't interest you to know how. Yet--I beg
of you to tell me one thing. Was he with you for long--so long that he
couldn't have got to the other place in time to commit the murder?"
"He was in my house until after one," I said boldly. "But you, if you
are his friend, ought to know him well enough to be certain without such
an assurance from me, that he is no murderer."
"Oh, I am certain," she protested. "I asked the question, not for that
reason, but to know if you could really prove his innocence, if you
choose. Now, I find you can.
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