For this was the first sign of a definite action against Pauline. What it meant or how far it would go, no one could say.
And then, that afternoon, came a letter from Pauline herself. It had been mailed in New York that morning and contained the surprising news that Pauline had sailed at noon that day for Alexandria.
“Get her back!” roared Haviland, as he read the letter. “Wireless the steamer and make her get picked up by some incoming ship! Don’t think of expense! She musn’t run off like that! It’s equivalent to confession of the crime!”
“Hush!” demanded Fleming Stone. “How dare you say that?”
“It’s true!” cried Anita. “Why else would Pauline run away? She knew she was on the verge of arrest and she fled to Carr Loria. He will hide her from her pursuers.”
“He can,” said Haviland, thoughtfully: “maybe it’s as well she’s gone there. Of course, she did it.”
“Of course, she didn’t!” and Fleming Stone’s voice trembled in its very intensity. “And I shall prove to a lot of dunder-headed police that she didn’t, but it will make my work much harder if you two insist on Miss Stuart’s guilt. Why do you want to railroad her into conviction of a crime she never dreamed of?”
“Then who did it?” demanded Anita. “To whom was Miss Lucy speaking when she said those things I heard?”
“If you harp on that string much longer,” said Stone, looking at her, “one might almost be justified in thinking she said them to you.”
“No,” said Anita, in a low, awed voice, and looking straight at Fleming Stone, “no, she did not say them to me.”