“Of course you know,” I said gently, “that I want to believe all you say
to me. But, Miss Lloyd, your naturally truthful nature so rebels at
your unveracity, that it is only too plain to be seen when you are not
telling the truth. Now, I do not urge you, but I ask you to tell me,
confidentially if you choose, what your surmise is as to Mr. Hall's
strange reticence.”
“It is only a surmise,” she said, and though the troubled look came back
to her eyes, she looked steadily at me. “And I have no real reason even
to think it, but I can't help feeling that Gregory is interested in some
other woman beside myself.”
Again I felt that uncontrollable impulse of satisfaction at this
disclosure, and again I stifled it. I endeavored to treat the matter
lightly. “Is that all?” I asked; “do you mean that perhaps Mr. Hall was
calling on some other lady acquaintance that evening?”
“Yes, that is what I do mean. And, as I say, I have no real reason to
think it. But still, Mr. Burroughs, if it were true, I cannot agree with
you that it is unimportant. Surely a man is not expected to call on one
woman when he is betrothed to another, or at least, not to make a secret
of it.”
I thoroughly agreed with her, and my opinion that Hall was a cad
received decided confirmation.
“My treating it as a light matter, Miss Lloyd, was not quite sincere.
Indeed, I may as well confess that it was partly to cover the too
serious interest I take in the matter.”
She looked up, startled at this, but as my eyes told her a certain
truth I made no effort to conceal, she looked down again, and her lip
quivered.
I pulled myself together. “Don't think I am taking advantage of your
confidence,” I said gently; “I want only to help you. Please consider me
an impersonal factor, and let me do all I can for you. For the moment,
let us suppose your surmise is correct. This would, of course, free Mr.
Hall from any implication of crime.”
“Yes, and while I can't suspect him of anything like crime, I hate,
also, to suspect him of disloyalty to me.”
Her head went up with a proud gesture, and I suddenly knew that the
thought of Hall's interest in another woman, affected her pride and her
sense of what was due her, far more than it did her heart. Her fear was
not so much that Hall loved another woman, as that his secrecy in the
matter meant a slight to her own dignified position.
“I understand, Miss Lloyd, and I hope for the sake of all concerned,
your surmise is not correct. But, with your permission, I feel it my
duty to discover where Mr. Hall was that evening, even if to do this it
is necessary to have professional assistance from headquarters.”
She shuddered at this. “It is so horrid,” she said, “to spy upon a
gentleman's movements, if he is only engaged in his personal affairs.”
“If we were sure of that, we need not spy upon him. But to the eye
of justice there is always the possibility that he was not about his
personal affairs that evening, but was here in West Sedgwick.”
“You don't really suspect him, do you?” she said; and she looked at me
as if trying to read my very soul.
“I'm afraid I do,” I answered gravely; “but not so much from evidence
against him, as because I don't know where else to look. Do you?”
“No,” said Florence Lloyd.