After the message was delivered, and while it was being read, Charlotte noted that it had the effect of producing a peculiar change in the countenance of the reader: his mouth puckered, as if for a whistle, though none was emitted; while his right eyebrow lifted in a manner that left a queer, quizzical expression on his weather-beaten visage.
He pocketed the missive without comment; scratched a word of acknowledgment on the envelope, which he handed to Joe—temporarily an ebon-hued Mercury—with an injunction to return at once to Mr. Follett.
For a time he sat in a silence that was pensive, even though his inflexible frame and countenance were not. How strange that the message should come to hand just at this juncture!—at the moment when he was obliged to admit the absence of a witness that had seen the woman. And that witness Slade! Was Joyce Westbrook the woman? There was that in the bare fact of Slade's being the person who was possessed of this knowledge which made the Captain feel that the coil was tightening irresistibly about the girl, for he was beginning to acquire his own idea as to what "Slade's Blessing" might signify; an idea utterly different from the more universal one. But he would say nothing further to harrow this much troubled lady beside him. After a while he turned to Charlotte with some abruptness.
"Now then, Miss Fairchild, you pretty well understand the status of both the cases. The main thing is, now, do you"—he emphasized the pronoun—"appreciate the seriousness of Miss Westbrook's position? If you do not, if this hour spent with you is barren of results, I shall be obliged openly to take her into custody, put Mr. Mountjoy in possession of the case, and let the law take its course. If I do not, some one else will. I dislike being so blunt, but these issues must be met squarely."
"I cannot be further shocked, Mr. Converse. I will do all that lies in my humble power. If Joyce was in the Nettleton Building that afternoon, it had been far better for Mobley to have announced it at once, whatever the result might have been."
Her hearer considerately refrained from again mentioning the possible reason for silence. Instead he said:
"You are now prepared to hear the main object of my call. The early part of last night I spent in going carefully over all that I have set before you, but more particularly as it concerns your brother's disappearance. It has become plain that, whatever our attempts to locate him may have failed in, they have at least proved one thing—that he never left the city. Who should know better where he is than his sister?"
"Believe me, Mr. Converse," she began quickly; but he held up a restraining hand.
"Wait," said he. "Let me finish. This is when I resolved to bully and frighten you—to get the information from you willy-nilly,—and behold to what that resolution has come! Now, I am not going to embarrass you at this time by asking you where Mr. Clay is, or even if you know where he is; but I do expect that by to-morrow night," he gave her a look full of meaning, and repeated, "that by to-morrow night, Miss Fairchild, some result will come from this interview; either that I shall hear from your brother, Doctor Westbrook, Miss Joyce, or all of them."
"What I started to say when you interrupted me is, that I do not know where Clay is. There is where I have been kept in ignorance."