He evinced some surprise at her constraint.
"Mobley, have you any reason to believe that a particular person was instrumental in the death of Alberto de Sanchez?"
Amazement grew in his countenance.
"Have I any reason—" he repeated, blankly. "I don't understand; who has been talking to you?" But light suddenly broke, and he concluded: "So that was that confounded detective fellow who just left here."
"Mobley, you are unjust." It was quite plain to her why he should think with irritation of Mr. Converse. "Although a stranger, he has treated me fairer than you have: he has given me his confidence."
The Doctor's eyes, yielding a sudden light of apprehension, became glued to Charlotte's; but he remained silent.
"I know you have been terribly troubled," she went on, evenly; "but have you been afraid of me, Mobley?"
"My God, Charlotte, no! I have simply wanted to spare you. There has been no reason why you should be drawn into this damnable mess, nor is there any more reason now. That man will have to answer to me for this."
"No, no, he will not, Mobley. I believe he has told the truth. I think that Joyce—oh, poor, darling girl, how my heart bleeds for her!—I think that innocent dear is the victim of the most diabolical set of circumstances I ever heard of. They will inevitably ruin her if she is not freed from them; and if it lies within our power to do so—do you hear me, Mobley?—if it lies within our power to do so, we must find a way."
"Dear, dear girl," he groaned. "If I had told him this morn—"