III
At the Hotel in Drymouth, Calgary dined early and went up to his room.
He felt profoundly affected¹ by what he had passed through at SunnyPoint. He had expected to find his mission painful and it had taken him allhis resolution to go through with it. But the whole thing had been painfuland upsetting in an entirely² different way from the one he had expected.
He flung himself down on his bed and lit a cigarette as he went over andover it in his mind.
The clearest picture that came to him was of Hester’s face at that partingmoment. Her scornful rejection³ of his plea for justice! What was it that shehad said? “It’s not the guilty who matter, it’s the innocent.” And then:
“Don’t you see what you’ve done to us all?” But what had he done? Hedidn’t understand.
And the others. The woman they called Kirsty (why Kirsty? That was aScottish name. She wasn’t Scottish—Danish, perhaps, or Norwegian?) Whyhad she spoken so sternly—so accusingly?
There had been something odd, too, about Leo Argyle—a withdrawal⁵, awatchfulness. No suggestion of the “Thank God my son was innocent!”
which surely would have been the natural reaction!
And that girl—the girl who was Leo’s secretary. She had been helpful tohim, kindly⁶. But she, too, had reacted in an odd way. He remembered theway she had knelt there by Argyle’s chair. As though—as though—shewere sympathizing with him, consoling him. Consoling him for what?
That his son was not guilty of murder? And surely—yes, surely—there wasmore there than a secretary’s feelings—even a secretary of some years’
standing⁷ … What was it all about? Why did they—The telephone on the table by the bed rang. He picked up the receiver.
“Hallo?”
“Dr. Calgary? There is someone asking for you.”
“For me?”
He was surprised. As far as he was aware, nobody knew that he wasspending the night in Drymouth.
“Who is it?”

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