In
the latter incident there was a deep mystery. He had relented at the
last moment, just in time to save me from my secret enemies.
Could it be that my enemies were his? Had he fallen a victim by the same
hand that had attempted so ingeniously to kill me?
Why had Leithcourt gone so regularly up to Rannoch Wood? Was it in
order to meet the man who was to be entrapped and killed? What was
Olinto Santini doing so far from London, if he had not come expressly to
meet someone in secret?
As I glanced down at the cold, inanimate countenance upon which mystery
was written, I became seized by regret. He had been a faithful and
honest servant, and even though he had enticed me to that fatal house in
Lambeth, yet I recollected his words, how he had done so under
compulsion. I remembered, too, how he had implored me not to prejudge
him before I became aware of the full facts.
With my own hand I re-covered the face with the sheet, and inwardly
resolved to avenge the dastardly crime.
I regretted that I was compelled to reveal the dead man's name to the
police, yet I saw that to make some statement was now inevitable, and
therefore I accompanied the constable to the inspector's office some
distance across the town.
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