“I hope not. I hope I shall learn the truth.”
“How?”
He shot the question at her as from a gun. His face had grown very grim and his sly little eyes gleamed threateningly. More than ever did Helen dislike and fear this man. The avaricious light in his eyes as he noted the money she carried on the train, had first warned her against him. Now, when she knew so much more about him, and how he was immediately connected with her father’s old trouble, Helen feared him all the more.
Because of his love of money alone, she could not trust him. And he had suggested something which was, upon the face of it, dishonest and unfair. She rose from her seat and shook her head slowly.
“I do not know how,” Helen said, sadly. “But I hope something may turn up to help me. I understand that you have never known anything about Allen Chesterton since he ran away?”
“Not a thing,” declared Mr. Grimes, shortly, rising as well.
“It is through him I hoped to find the truth,” she murmured.
“So you won’t accept my help?” growled Mr. Grimes.
“Not—not the kind you offer. It—it wouldn’t be right,” Helen replied.
“Very well, then!” snapped the man, and opened the door into the outer office. As he ushered her into the other room the outer door opened and a shabby man poked his head and shoulders in at the door.