The Lone Inn by Fergus Hume — Read

Having made up my mind what course to pursue, I returned to Marshminster, took leave of my relatives, and left that evening for London. There I remained two days reviewing the strange events in which I had lately been an actor. At one moment it was in my mind to abandon what certainly seemed to be a hopeless search, for I could not but see it was a matter of great difficulty to lay my hand on the assassin of Francis. It would be better, I thought, to place the matter in the hands of the police, and let them thrash it out for themselves. Two reasons prevented my taking this ignoble course.

One was that Francis Briarfield had been a college friend, and I was unwilling that his death should go unavenged. The story of his love for Olivia which he had told me at the inn contained the elements of a strange romance, fitly capped by his tragic end. I felt certain that Felix through his hired bravo -- for I could call Strent by no other name -- had encompassed the death of his brother. Felix was passionately in love with Olivia, and the unexpected return of Francis not only threatened to take her away from him, but also to reveal the scoundrelly fashion in which he had behaved. At one blow Felix would lose her love and respect, therefore his motive for averting such a catastrophe was a strong one. That he should determine on fratricide was a terrible thought, but there was no other course left to him by which to secure the woman he loved, and the respect he valued. It was the mad action of a weak, passionate man such as I knew Felix to be.