“That is exactly what I am trying to find out,” assured Craig. “We went in to the city on what looked as though it might prove to be a very promising clue, but nothing came of it. However, it is only a short while, now, and we shall soon have something to report, I am convinced.”
“Did you see—Mr. Maddox?” she asked, hesitatingly, and I knew that the mention of Shelby’s name had cost her some effort, after the serious tiff of the evening before. “He was very solicitous, sent up word, and some flowers, but could not miss the express, he wrote, on account of an important engagement.”
“Yes, we saw him for just a minute—down in Wall Street. I believe he has taken some interest in business lately and has spent much time at the office of his brokers down-town.”
The look of relief that passed over her face could not easily be concealed. It was evident that she knew of the sudden early departure of Paquita and, like Hastings, in her suspicions, had been afraid that there might be some connection with Shelby. Kennedy did not say anything about the appearance of Paquita in Wall Street; and, on reflection, I reasoned that he was right, for it could have no effect except to arouse unjust suspicions.
Winifred said nothing for a few moments. I wondered what was passing in her mind. Was she sorry that she had not taken Shelby at his word the night before? At any rate, she said nothing, nor should I have expected her to admit anything to us.
“What do your brother and sister-in-law think?” asked Kennedy, at length.
“Johnson promised to get a detective himself if there was anything new on which to base suspicions,” she replied. “He seemed rather vexed at me that I could tell no more, said that no detective could be expected to catch any one on my hazy description—which, I suppose, is true.”
“And Mrs. Maddox?”
“Oh, she seems to think—well, it’s pretty hard to tell what poor Irene thinks from one moment to another. She says it’s what I might expect for being mixed up with the Maddoxes. I can’t see what that has to do with it, though. I’m not mixed up with them, even if Johnson is.”
There was a naïveté about the remark that was not lost on Kennedy. Winifred was still mistress of her own heart, at least so she would have us think. Her solicitude about Shelby and the careful way in which she refused to let us see that it went too far would have indicated otherwise. She was really afraid of herself.