“And was Mr. Hall at his desk also?”
Louis stared at me. “Mr. Hall, he was in New York that night.” This was said so simply and unpremeditatedly, that I was absolutely certain it was not Hall whom Louis had seen there.
“Oh, yes, of course, so he was,” I said lightly; “and Mr. Crawford was writing, was he?”
“Yes, sir,” spoken with the dogged scowl which I was beginning to learn always accompanied Louis's untruthful statements.
And now I decided to put my worst fear to the test and have it over with. It must be done, and I felt sure I could do it, but oh, how I dreaded it!
“Did Mr. Crawford look up or see you?”
“No, sir.”
“And didn't Miss Florence see you, either?”
“No, sir.”
It was out. The mere fact that Louis answered that question so calmly and unconsciously proved he was telling the truth. But what a truth! for it told me at the same time that Florence Lloyd was in the office with her uncle, that Louis had seen her, but that she had not seen him. I had learned the truth from my reading of the man's expression and demeanor, and though it made my heart sink, I didn't for a moment doubt that it was the truth.