"Slade!—Here!—General Westbrook!" he cried in utter astonishment.
Charlotte was startled at this surprising manifestation of interest.
"It is very remarkable," she presently resumed, "and I cannot in the least understand what it means. That it was extraordinarily serious, mamma's condition this morning testifies to. Does the circumstance tell you anything?"
The detective was regarding her in a most peculiar manner. His expression seemed to say that nothing in the whole gamut of possible disclosures touching upon the two mysteries could take him more unawares than this simple statement of Charlotte's; but she had by no means told him all, and his face at once became impassive again.
"Please finish," said he, quite calmly; "I don't know—yet."
She obeyed, narrating at length her experience of the preceding night. He listened with attentive silence until the burning of the papers was mentioned. The look of the gray eyes brought something like consternation to Charlotte.
"Miss Fairchild!" he exclaimed.
"Oh, I knew it was very, very wrong," she cried, sorely troubled at his obvious dismay; "but what could I do? Mamma was not herself; she wanted me to swear that I would not even look at them—to burn them instantly. She was so excited—'
"Never mind—never mind," he broke in with a reassurance he did not in the least feel; "don't distress yourself. I see—I will take it for granted that you could not have done otherwise than you did; that your excellent common sense bade you pause—"
"Indeed, indeed, that is true," fervently.