So, when he finally responded, he plunged into another phase of the subject, as if he had not heard her question.
"Miss Fairchild," briskly, "I must progress toward the final and most important matter which I came here to present to you, and again I take occasion to warn you that this part of my recital will require a great deal of your fortitude. You must believe, now, that I have worked untiringly—unceasingly—in this matter?"
"I believe that, Mr. Converse."
"Very good. Now, endeavor not only to keep before you what I have already told you, but please follow me as closely as you can.... First, however, assure me upon one point, though it may seem inconsequential and even presuming in me to speak of it; but before I am done you will understand. Is there any attachment between your brother and Miss Westbrook?"
She regarded him with serious eyes.
"Mr. Converse," she began, with a sudden assumption of reserve and restraint, "that is a very delicate and, to me, sacred matter; but I—" She checked herself, and once more regarded him gravely; her manner quickly changed, and again she became frank and open. "I do not believe you would ask it were it not important that I answer you frankly. Never have Clay and I exchanged a word upon the subject; but I am a woman—his sister—and I love him dearly; I see a great deal more than he would ever suspect. Mr. Converse, please respect this confidence: I believe there has never been a time when Clay did not love Joyce, dear, darling, beautiful girl that she is. As for her, I do not know. She has a warm attachment for Clay; she admires him; still, she is so young—her life has been so gay and light-hearted, so entirely free from any care and responsibility—that it is pleasant to think no strong emotion has yet laid its touch upon her heart. To her, Clay has been a playmate, a loved comrade, a friend; whether he is destined ever to be more, I cannot say. But I believe I have told you the exact status of their intimacy, for it has occupied my thoughts often, often, often."
"This confidence has not injured your brother; and you have my word of honor that it is as sacred with me as with yourself."
"That will do; I can now hear anything you have to tell me."
He paused a moment. He knew he must hurt her, however carefully he might unfold the intelligence he had come to convey, and so why prolong the anxiety by trying to temper it? So he said, slowly, deliberately:
"Miss Fairchild, the one person that we have so far been unable to account for, to whom we must look for the explanation of these crimes is—a woman."