Her left hand was still clasped in her brother's; but further than to indicate with her free hand a chair in which Mr. Converse was at liberty to seat himself if he chose, she made no response. He took advantage of the opportunity to the extent of resting one knee on the chair-seat and his elbows on the back—the straight-backed chair which had stood by the veranda window.
"Now then, Miss Westbrook, let us go back to the evening of November fourth," Converse proceeded. He found no encouragement in her frozen attitude; but his own manner could have been no more cheerful, yet tempered by a sense of his surroundings and the occasion, nor have betrayed more of an easy confidence, had he known that the locked lips were to open, and by a word exorcise the spell of mystery which held them all. "During the evening of November fourth—Wednesday—were you not in the Nettleton Building?"
So promptly that it would have staggered a man less used to surprises, came the reply:
"I refuse to answer."
Even the Captain was taken aback, although it was not in his immobile features to yield a hint of the fact. As he put the question, he noted a convulsive tightening of the hand that still clasped the Doctor's; but the soft eyes did not waver nor the beautiful face alter its expression. The words were faintly spoken; nevertheless they were vibrant with a determined and set purpose, and Converse was overwhelmed with that sense of helpless impatience which is apt to assail one in the face of mistaken obstinacy.
"This is very unfortunate," he observed with deepened gravity. "Miss Westbrook, I would not presume to advise you, but you are wrong, wrong—and how can I convince you?" He regarded the still figure, as unresponsive as a waxen image. No assistance there. He glanced at Doctor Westbrook, only to meet another pair of eyes showing an unalterable purpose.
"This conversation might as well end here and now," he at length concluded, addressing the Doctor; and added with pointed deliberation, "You know what that means."
Doctor Westbrook glanced at the silent, motionless figure beside him, and moved uneasily. Was is possible that the uncompromising attitude of this mere girl, and it alone, was responsible for the deadlock? To a certain extent she was herself a mystery, an enigma, and what with her immobility and silence, her dimness of outline in the darkened library, she was as intangible and inscrutable as Paquita. Out of the shadow that marked where she stood the violet eyes glowed like two stars, the beautiful features, surrounded by their halo of ebon hair, now only a denser shadow, loomed as pallid as death, and the Captain was irritatingly aware of his inability so far to grasp at anything definite by which to frame his speech. At any rate, whether or no she was the controlling spirit, it would seem the Doctor endeavored to temporize.
"Mr. Converse," he began presently, "you have called our attention to the fact that you are simply performing a duty,—that you are doing so with a delicate consideration for our feelings which perhaps we don't deserve,—but I assure you, sir, we do appreciate your tact and thoughtfulness, and it must appear that we are making a poor return for such kindness. But consider this: there are possible issues to this crisis that may prove disastrous to persons entirely unblameworthy. Can you not imagine the possibility of a situation in which we should be compelled to move with the utmost caution, wherein we must rely solely upon our own judgment? Good God!" he suddenly exploded, "think of Joyce—my sister—think of a fair young girl being entangled in anything so damnable!"