The Disappearing Eye by Fergus Hume — Read

Had I not been in love -- and with a face, instead of the flesh and blood woman -- I suppose I would have gone off at once to Dredge to announce my discovery and show what I had found. But, in spite of evidence to the very strong contrary, I could not believe that Gertrude Monk was guilty of her old nurse's murder. She might have locked me in, she might have run off with my car and practically wrecked it, and she might have hidden in the hedge these incriminating garments: but she assuredly had not -- in my now terribly biassed opinion -- thrust the hat-pin into Mrs. Caldershaw's heart. Unless she confessed her guilt to my face, I resolutely declined to believe that she had perpetrated a sordid crime.

However, it was useless to stand in that chilly field weighing pros and cons, when I knew nothing of the woman, save that she was exquisitely lovely, and had captured my fancy against my will, as it were. I had a natural revulsion of doubt; then believed in her more than ever, even to the extent of vowing, that if by chance she were guilty, she should never go to the scaffold through me. But if I wished to prevent that, there was no time to be lost in getting rid of that infernal cloak and veil, for Inspector Dredge with unexpected insight might come nosing about the field. Not that I credited him with such perspicuity, but -- as I swiftly determined -- it was just as well to be on the safe side. I therefore rolled up veil and cloak into as small a compass as possible, and thrusting them under my overcoat -- I wore one as the morning was breezy -- I regained the road and hastened my return to Murchester Barracks.