She turned there, clasped her hands behind her back and put up her chin. “He was no help to the police, just babbled on about how he was going to marry your Mom and how he was in love with her, that they he had lost his true love, Michelle insisted on repeating that to me, ‘He lost his true love. Epithalamy might do. Poor Ben was not so fortunate. 1715. And this damning evidence―’ with a brusque gesture at the portrait ‘―must also be destroyed. Hang the wench! Roding was right. There was a certain air of forced fortuity in his manner. They were so nearly alike that the difference would be due to a shaky hand.
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