Page:Burton Stevenson--The marathon mystery.djvu/136

114 be needlessly cruel. That’s the reason I’m telling you all this. It’s a sort of introduction.”

“Ah,” I said, and looked at him.

“I’ll blurt it out in a word. I’ll be out of town next week—all week—my business demands it—and it’s absurd for me to think of taking Cecily with me—it’s absolutely impossible—it would ruin the whole affair. What I want to ask you is this—look in on her occasionally, cheer her up, take her to the theatre, if you’ll be so good. She knows no one here, and she has a ridiculous need of companionship, of chattering to someone, of having someone to admire her. It’s born in the blood, I suppose; it’s an inheritance from two centuries of ancestors. Left to herself, she’ll soon mope herself sick. Will you do this for me, my friend?”

There was a compelling wizardry in his eyes as he looked at me, yet I had self-control enough to pause and reflect. Still, I saw no reason why I should refuse, even had my own inclination not greatly urged me forward. Here would be an opportunity to unveil such secrets of his as Cecily might know—especially as to where they had been on the evening of the murder. Perhaps she even knew the victim; could give me a clew to the connection between him and Tremaine, if such a connection existed—there were unlimited possibilities. And yet, a feeling of shame held me back. To take advantage in this way of a man who trusted me, against whom there was nothing but the merest, most intangible suspicion…

I looked up and met his intent gaze.

“You were reflecting?” he said.