“Where did you get your information?” His voice was suddenly sullen and cold.
“From Braman.”
He started, and laughed in humorous derision.
“Braman and Corrigan are blood brothers in this deal. You must have captivated the little sneak completely to make him lose his head like that!”
“I did it for you, Trev—for you. Don’t you see? Oh, I despise the little beast! But he dropped a hint one day when I was in the bank, and I deliberately snared him, hoping I might be able to gain information that would benefit you. And I have, Trev!” she added, trembling with a hope that his hasty judgment might result to her advantage. And how near she had come to mentioning Carson’s name! If Trevison had waited for just another second before interrupting her! Fortune had played favorably into her hands tonight!
“For you, boy,” she said, slipping close to him, sinuously, whispering, knowing the “she” he had mentioned must be Rosalind Benham. “Old friends are best, boy. At least they can be depended upon not to betray one. Trev; let me help you! I can, and I will! Why, I love you, Trev! And you need me, to help you fight these people who are trying to ruin you!”
“You don’t understand.” Trevison’s voice was cold and passionless. “It seems I can’t make you understand. I’m grateful for what you have done for me tonight—very grateful. But I can’t live a lie, woman. I don’t love you!”
“But you love a woman who has delivered you into the hands of your enemies,” she moaned.
“I can’t help it,” he declared hoarsely. “I don’t deny it. I would love her if she sent me to the gallows, and stood there, watching me die!”
The woman bowed her head, and dropped her hands listlessly to her sides. In this instant she was thinking almost the same words that Rosalind Benham had murmured on her ride to Blakeley’s, when she had discovered Trevison’s identity: “I wonder if Hester Keyes knows what she has missed.”