"Yes, I spoke purposely," he answered.
"Reginald said you did, and that you looked as if you had a suspicion of him. But you didn't know he was Mr. Boyd's son?"
"I did know it," said Dick.
"Why did you keep it to yourself?" she asked, with a troubled look.
"It was for your sake, Florence," he answered quietly. "It wasn't for me to pry into your secrets."
"Thank you, dear," said Florence, putting her hand into his with a tender smile, "it was like you."
"Did Reginald carry out his idea, Florence?"
"I can't tell you; he said nothing more about it to me. Last Saturday I received a letter from him saying he wasn't very well, and couldn't come to mother's on Sunday, and asking me not to call and see him till I heard from him again. What day of the month is this, Dick?"
"The 7th. Last Saturday was the 2nd," said Dick, and thought, "The day after he went to his father's house late at night, the day after Abel Death went there in the night in the hope that Samuel Boyd would take him back again, the day after the murder!"
"Yes, Dick, the 7th. I didn't go to Reginald either on that day or on Sunday. You can imagine how miserable I was. On Monday morning I received another short letter, in which he asked me again not to come and see him. The next letter came on Tuesday night when mother and I were sitting together."