"The train will move in a moment, and unless you wish to go on alone, we must be quick."
He assisted her into an omnibus, where several passengers waited, and they were driven to a hotel. Mr. Herriott ordered two rooms, and at the door of one said:
"I must see that the trunks are brought at once. I need mine."
Throwing aside her hat, Eglah began to pace the floor. His countenance had undergone a marked change—subtle, inexplicable—and an indefinable dread caught her heart as in a vise. It seemed to her that an hour passed before he tapped at the door, and she could scarcely articulate,
"Come in."
With a square package sealed in brown paper under one arm, Mr. Herriott entered, closed the door, and deposited the bundle on a small table. From his vest pocket he drew the folded telegram and gave it to her.
"Woodbury, 3 P.M.
"Duncan Keith died two days ago. Wired you at New York Club. Everything attended to here. Will meet you at Carville at 8 P.M.
"Herman Martin."
Her wide, terrified eyes gazed into his.
"What does it mean for me—now?"
"It means that probably some guilty bank officials will go 'unwhipped of justice.' Duncan's father had no relatives in America. He was a poor stowaway lad from England, and since the grandmother's death his son, Duncan, had only his mother's sister, Mrs. Martin. I could not hear from Duncan, to whom I wrote twice last week, and this telegram is an answer to one I sent Martin, telling him I could make only a very brief stop at Woodbury to-night. I have done my duty. I have kept my word. The prosecution of the guilty does not devolve on me, and Martin will never consent to undertake a suit for libel. It would involve money which he does not possess, and responsibility he will not dare to assume. Your father's letters, and the vouchers for large sums of money sent to 'Ely Twiggs,' are in a separate envelope. I shall burn them now, before I deliver the box to Martin."