He could not get away from the amazing tenacity of Mrs. Ilam’s purpose.
“You wish to speak?” said Carpentaria, who had been observing the woman’s eyes; the eyes were blinking nervously.
He began the alphabet again, and her message ran thus:
“I do not hate him; but I love my son. To-night I thought Josephus was in danger. That was why—revolver. I always acted for my son. I love him!”
These sentiments, so unmistakably clear in their significance, took some time to transmit. Mrs. Ilam appeared to be exhausted. But after a few moments she continued:
“Where is Rosie? She helped him. I want to know why.”
The men exchanged glances.
“Why did she help you?” Carpentaria asked of Jetsam.
“Better ask her!” replied Jetsam curtly.
Carpentaria did not hesitate an instant. He went to the door, opened it, and called Rosie, and his voice resounded through the well of the staircase and the empty rooms. And then Rosie came from; downstairs, like an apparition. She had been crying.