Another Woman's House by Mignon G. Eberhart Page A

then it is even more easily understood as a motive for his lie for Mrs. Thorne’s conviction would automatically save Webb.”
    â€œDid he do it?”
    The Governor did not reply for a moment and, when he did, his manner had changed. Up to then, except for the extremely searching look in his eyes when he watched Richard, his manner had been open and candid; there was now a certain reservation. Yet his words were frank enough. “I don’t know. I’m inclined to believe not. Yet certainly we are right up against the whole question again. If Mrs. Thorne didn’t kill him, who did?”
    Suddenly Myra wondered if Richard too had sensed that rather ominous change in the Governor’s manner. She thought that he had, for Richard’s own face seemed to close up. His voice, too, had a certain reservation. He said, “There were not many suspects.”
    â€œNo,” said the Governor so deliberately that there was a kind of indefinable significance in his tone. “No, there were not many suspects. I should say there are not many suspects.”
    After a moment Richard said almost as deliberately, “Along what lines will the investigation proceed?”
    â€œThe usual lines, I should say.” Again there was an element of reservation, almost of evasion, in the Governor’s manner; yet again his words were prompt and apparently frank. “Opportunity, means, motive.”
    â€œI see. Presence in or near the house, possession of the gun …”
    â€œYour gun,” said the Governor.
    â€œMy gun,” agreed Richard. “But what about a motive? Has anything new developed in that direction?—If I may ask?”
    â€œCertainly you may ask,” said the Governor. “There is nothing new. Indeed, there was never a proved motive to attribute to Mrs. Thorne. The obvious one, indeed, the only one that seemed logical at the time was, well, an affair, a very serious affair, between them and a quarrel. As you’ll remember there were instances which seemed to support that theory. Oh, it’s true, there was never a letter, a scrap of paper, a witness of anything that was”—he cleared his throat and seemed to substitute words—“a witness of any particular value or significance. But there were, as I say, instances. He was an intimate friend; he was frequently seen with your wife and with you; he was a constant visitor here at your house.” He put up his hand as if to prevent Richard’s speaking, and added quickly, “Oh, I realize that this could have been the most ordinary and innocent of friendships. There was nothing to suggest anything else except the circumstances of the murder itself. His presence here at night when you were away seemed, in view of the murder, very significant. Webb’s false testimony to the effect that he had seen the murder seemed to clinch it. Yet actually it could have been exactly as she said. Jack had strolled over here simply because he was alone, because he wanted to chat, he wanted a book to read. It was Webb’s testimony, Webb’s perjury, that gave the fact significance.”
    Richard said slowly, “What about Webb?”
    â€œWhat does the district attorney intend to do, you mean? Well, he’s to be charged for perjury, of course. He’s to have until tomorrow to get his affairs in order. I promised him that. What happens later depends upon the progress of the investigation, upon Webb himself, the district attorney, the jury.”
    Richard tossed the shredded white ball of the cigarette into the fire. The Governor sighed and sat down in the red chair again and said, “Now Tim is a different problem. It is difficult to believe that he forgot, until now, so important a fact. Yet, if he did not forget, if he intentionally withheld it until now, why?” He turned directly to Myra. “I cannot believe that he’d wish to hurt Mrs. Thorne. I think, on the contrary, he would