"Yes, and find the real criminal," but Thorpe's face was less bright, "then, sir, will you give us your blessing?"
"Yes, McClellan," but Crane's voice had no hearty ring, "yes, when you are a free man in every sense of the word, you may take my little girl for your own."
Thorpe gave him a searching look. "I can't help seeing, Mr. Crane," he said, "that you think,—or perhaps I may say, you fear I am guilty. I hope I can prove to you that I am not."
Crane noticed the wording of his speech. Thorpe hoped to prove to him,—but he didn't say he was innocent.
And Benjamin Crane believed the man guilty. Greatly influenced by what he had heard at the séance with the medium, Crane was still willing to be convinced to the contrary, but Thorpe's own attitude and words did not carry conviction.
"Well, my children," Crane said at last, "here's my proposition. I can't think your determination to do detective work will produce much fruit. Now, if you like, I'll engage the best detective I can find and put him on the job. What say, Thorpe?"
It was a test question, and Crane eagerly awaited the answer. If Thorpe were really innocent, he would welcome the clever sleuthing that would be likely to unearth the truth.
But he was disappointed to hear Thorpe say, "Not yet, Mr. Crane. Give us a chance. Let me try,—let us try,"—with a glance at Julie—"give us a few days, at least,—then, if we gain nothing,—then bring on your detective."
"But,— I hate to say it, Mac, though I dare say you know it,—you may be arrested any day now."
Thorpe gave a start, and the sudden pallor that came to his face showed how the idea affected him.