"Tell me, Charlie. Be perfectly frank with me. Have you, do you think,
at any time recently given some cause for offence to the Doctor?"
"Why do you ask that?" inquired the other in quick surprise.
"I have reasons for asking. I'll tell you after you've answered my
question."
"I don't know," he laughed uneasily. "Some men, and especially
foreigners, are very easily offended."
"But have you offended the Doctor?"
"Perhaps. A man never knows when he gives unintentional offence."
"Are you aware of having done anything to offend him?"
"No, except that Maud asked me not to visit there so often, as her
father did not approve of it."
"Did she ever tell you that the Doctor had suddenly entertained a
dislike of you?"
"Certainly not. I always believed that he was very friendly disposed
towards me. But--well--why do you ask all this?"
"I merely ask for information."
"Of course, but you promised to tell me the reason."
"Well, the fact is this. On the afternoon prior to their disappearance,
the Doctor expressed feelings towards you that were not exactly
friendly. It seemed to me that he had formed some extraordinary
prejudice. Fathers do this often towards the men who love their
daughters, you know. They are sometimes apt to be over-cautious, with
the result that the girl loses a very good chance of marriage," he
added. "I've known several similar cases."
"Well," said Charlie thoughtfully, "that's quite new to me. I had
flattered myself that the Doctor was very well disposed towards me.
This is quite a revelation?"
"Didn't Maud ever tell you?"
"Not a word."
"She feared, of course, to hurt your feelings. It was quite natural.
She loves you."
"If what we fear be true, you should put your words into the past tense,
Max," was his reply in a hard voice. Barclay knew that his friend loved
the sweet-faced girl with the stray, unruly wisp of hair which fell
always across her white brow and gave her such a piquante appearance.
And if he loved her so well, was it possible that he could have been
author of, or implicated, in a foul and secret crime?
Recollection of that dress-bodice with the ugly stain still wet upon it
flashed upon him. Was it not in itself circumstantial evidence that
some terrible crime had been committed?
The man before him denied all knowledge of the disappearance of his
well-beloved, and yet Max, with his own eyes, had seen him slinking from
the house!
Had he spoken the truth, or was he an ingenious liar?
Such was the problem which Max Barclay put to himself--a question which
was the whole crux of the extraordinary situation. If what Rolfe had
declared was the truth, then the mystery became an enigma beyond
solution.
But if, on the other hand, he was now endeavouring to shield himself
from the shadow of guilt upon him, then at least one fact was rendered
more hideous than the rest.
The question was one--and only one.
Had this man, brother of his own dear Marion, sworn falsely upon what he
had held to be most sacred--his love for Maud?
What was the real and actual truth?